


A Way To Get Closer Than This

by stayingputwouldbeablunder



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Deputy Derek, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Mates, Mates by Choice, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mentions of knotting, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pack Family, Relationship Discussions, The Pack, as background, how did that happen, mentions of switching, took me long enough to add that tag huh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-01-13 05:26:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1214335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stayingputwouldbeablunder/pseuds/stayingputwouldbeablunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I think you should ask me to be your mate,” Stiles says, spinning on a stool in front of the island in Derek’s kitchen. Derek promptly spits the entire mouthful of apple juice he just drank all over the counter.</p><p>Maybe he should have waited until <em>after</em> Derek swallowed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. off the ground, headin' for another take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t even know how this happened and that is the honest to god truth. One minute I was checking my email at work and the next my brain is all ‘ _write an a/b/o fic, staying put, you know you want to, do it, do it DO IT._ ’ I have a college au wip that I originally meant to make an a/b/o fic but once I cranked out the first few pages of that, past me was like ‘ _do you really want to do this, you can’t go back._ ’
> 
> The joke’s on you, past self.
> 
> Just to clarify, in this AU Claudia was a beta, the Sheriff is human, and Stiles was born a werewolf, not bitten.
> 
> Also, I have no idea what the rules of a/b/o universes are so I'm making this up as I go. Basically all you need to know right now is that werewolves pick their mates, don't just meet them and bam, that's it. Because reasons.
> 
> Unbeta’d, good gracious.

Stiles is going to give him one last chance. That’s it. Derek’s going to have one more opportunity, one more of Stiles’ heats, to either ask him to be his mate or to decide that it’s the end. Just one more to finish out the calendar year.

Because Stiles is _tired_ , okay? He’s tired of their arrangement, great as it is, but it’s not the same. He’s not sixteen anymore, not some virgin omega climbing the walls the moment his heat strikes with the need to mount or be mounted.

(Derek would argue that’s a lie because three heats past, Stiles did over a grand worth of damage to the interior of the Camaro because he couldn’t get his seatbelt off and ‘ _there’s a goddamn reason we have claws, Derek._ ’)

Regardless, Stiles isn’t the same person, werewolf, whatever, that he was back then. He’s got a bachelor’s degree and a MBA now, a paying job, a new engine in his Jeep so she’ll stop threatening to breakdown on him every time he drives through the Preserve. He’s an _adult_ , he can legally rent a car without needing someone else to vouch for him. He pays his bills and lies to his loan people about deferring his payments for just another few months, every few months.

It’s only natural to want a mate. To want someone who he will be unconditionally bound to for the rest of his life. It’s exciting and terrifying, an inherent need that his body reminds him of with each passing heat - that he should find a someone, an alpha.

And that’s where Derek comes in. He’s been Stiles’ heat partner since the day he turned eighteen and the Sheriff made Derek promise to treat Stiles like a mate and not just the teenager who had been lusting after him for years. Derek agreed, shook the Sheriff’s hand, and that was that.

Stiles’ heats come every three months like clockwork, as all omega heats do, always in February, May, August, and November. It’s been that way since he was fifteen and yeah, he’ll admit that baby-him did climb the walls and beg for someone. He honestly doesn’t know how his father handled it; the Sheriff’s as human as they come. Stiles likes to think it was with the aid of Melissa McCall, also human, and her prowess in handling Scott when his heats came. Granted, they were only two a year, and being an alpha, Scott was better able to handle them.

The heat room in the basement of his childhood home is still functional but Stiles hasn’t needed to use it since the summer between his freshman and sophomore year and Derek had to go to Brazil to visit his sister. Derek had apologized for weeks, hated that he had to leave Stiles, because they made a promise to one another.

In its essence, their agreement is this: Stiles spends his heats with Derek in lieu of finding some random alpha and Derek spends his heats with Stiles instead of bringing home some lust drunk beta or omega wanting his pups. It’s an agreement of convenience and trust and it was perfect until it wasn’t enough. When Stiles proposed the idea to Derek, still seventeen and one day away from no longer being considered jailbait, the alpha had been averse to binding Stiles into something so young. Stiles had just beamed at him and agreed.

Their agreement becomes void if either of them ever finds a mate, those are the rules. At the time it was something easy to agree to, because Stiles would be leaving at the end of the summer for college and didn’t want to go out into the world tied down. Now it’s all just a mess.

Stiles is a mess. He doesn’t know how it’s come to this.

Their first time together is really just a blur of memories. It hadn’t even been one of his heats, just a cold day in December. Derek and Scott had been shouting at one another across the metal table in Derek’s loft, why Stiles can’t recall, but probably overstepping leadership boundaries. Their pack is a little wonky by normal standards, what with two alphas, a handful of betas, an omega, a banshee, a hunter, and one surreptitiously named human.

Stiles wouldn’t have it any other way though.

He vividly remembers Scott throwing his arms up in the air and storming out of the apartment, remembers defending his best friend while Derek castigated him. He remembers baring his teeth and the glow of his eyes casting a golden tint across his nose. He _remembers_ shuffling into Derek’s space, poking a finger into his chest, reminding the alpha he would always fall secondary to Scott. 

There’s a time skip then, one that ends with him naked, ass up on Derek’s bed, leaking copious amounts of slick out of his hole. He remembers the sounds he made as Derek dragged his fingers through the mess, nails scraping against his skin, the way he broke into goosebumps and how all the air rushed out of his lungs the moment Derek slipped his fingers inside his body.

The rest of it he doesn’t think he’ll _ever_ forget, not the way he fucked himself back on Derek’s fingers, filthy squelching noise ringing off the brick walls, or how it felt when Derek finally, _finally_ , bottomed out after pinning Stiles’ hands to the bed because he was shredding the sheets and pillows. He remembers slamming his hips back, the smack they made against Derek’s thighs, how he begged and pleaded and _whined_ for Derek to knot him. He remembers the orgasm being ripped out of him with a howl.

But he also remembers coming down from it, how Derek suddenly stopped mouthing at the back of his neck, knot pressed firmly against his hole but too large to slip in. Derek looked lost when he pulled out and rolled Stiles onto his side, like he couldn’t believe his body had betrayed the restraint they both knew he’d been building for years. All he had to say was ‘ _Stiles_ ’ in this tinny, broken voice, and they both just knew.

Two separate awkward showers later, they agreed it was a mistake, that they’d gotten caught up in the moment. Stiles was worried his father would find out and arrest Derek, was sure he’d reek of sex despite the shower. He shrugged his jacket on and gave an awkward wave, turning to head out when Derek grabbed his wrist. ‘ _If_ ’ he had started, face and ears flushed red, ‘ _if and only if you decide you want to stop suppressants once you turn eighteen and you want to ride out your heats with an alpha, we can talk about what just happened then. Alright?_ ’ Stiles had just quirked his lips into a smile.

All of _that_ Stiles remembers because a, it was the night he lost his virginity, and b, it was only the second time he’d ever shown the most primitive signs of being an omega. Self-lubrication had always freaked him out because that made the nature in which his body could alter itself _real_ , so real that one day he could, if he ever chose to, carry pups. It doesn't happen every time they have sex, almost exclusively when Stiles is heat or when Derek's heats trigger him into psuedo-heat states, but hey, when it does occur it’s a fantastic convenience because they don’t have to use lube that smells too much like chemicals and Derek likes the way it tastes.

The first time it manifested was the dark day that Stiles and Scott have agreed to never speak of again, even in death. It had been accident: one minute they had been wrestling on the floor of Scott’s living room, both partially shifted because it made controlling their strength easier, and the next Scott was scrambling away from Stiles into the corner of the room. Stiles could smell it before he could ever feel it, a spicy tinge in the air and this strange, hot liquid leaking through his boxers.

When they told their parents, Melissa hit Scott across the back of his head and Sheriff gave Stiles one of his patented long suffering looks. Stiles argued that they should focus on the positives of the situation: they knew, without a doubt now, that Scott was definitely an alpha and Stiles was for sure an omega. Instead, the Sheriff reminded him of their “blood brothers” incident when they were five, in which they sliced their palms open with a stolen Swiss army knife and shook hands, mixing their blood until the wounds healed.

Claudia had keeled over laughing at that one, more entertained with the idea that her son had than the fact they could have accidentally bonded. Stiles had flushed red, little hand gripped in Scott’s, and told her that Scott was his real brother now, no matter what Mr. McCall said. Scott had nodded, saying his dad was a butt. Claudia hugged them both through her tears and said they would have been brothers without it.

They still are. They survived Rafael leaving Melissa, they survived Claudia passing away long before she should have, they survived Scott having to learn how to be an alpha and all the obstacles that came with it. And until they were sixteen, they had a pact that if either of them was still single by the time they reached twenty-five, they’d claim each other.

Then Scott met Allison; not that Stiles is bitter, though he will admit in the beginning he had been. Allison is sunshine personified with deadly hunter skills and the greatest aim in Beacon Hills. Stiles loves her like a sister, loved her through all of her and Scott’s break-ups when he had to be their in-between communicator. He doesn’t think anyone in the world deserves to be Scott’s mate more than Allison, including himself.

Therein lies the problem though. His friends, his pack, for the most part have all paired off since graduating high school. No one’s relationships were without their bumps, but it remains a fact that he is the only werewolf still looking for a mate since Derek and Isaac are both fine without having mates for the time being.

Scott likes to remind him that he doesn’t need to rush, that there are people even older than Derek who still haven’t found theirs. Stiles likes counter by reminding his bestie that he’s one half of the living cliché "high school sweethearts". Their parents remind them they're both idiots for using the same insulting tactics they developed when they were six.

\- - -

Convincing Derek is going to be the hard part of this whole thing. Stiles would use sex to loosen the alpha up to the idea, but he’s two days out from his end of the summer heat and every muscle in the lower half of his body still aches. So he goes for the most direct approach.

“I think you should ask me to be your mate,” Stiles says, spinning on a stool in front of the island in Derek’s kitchen. Derek promptly spits the entire mouthful of apple juice he just drank all over the counter.

Maybe he should have waited until _after_ Derek swallowed.

Part of him wants to make fun of the alpha for being the only grown man/werewolf/ _adult_ he knows that buys the two gallon jugs of no sugar added apple juice from the grocery store. He _did_ make fun of him for it once and got scolded in the middle of the aisle because in Derek’s opinion, there shouldn’t be an ageist stigma on who is allowed to drink apple juice because it is ‘ _a fucking gift_.’ 

There’s juice dripping through and out of Derek’s beard and that Stiles does laugh at. He sets down the cutting board he was twirling on one corner before using it as an apple juice shield, leans over and toes a drawer open. The towels inside are the ones Stiles made Derek buy two months ago after all his previous ones were “accidentally” tossed on top of something Scott had thrown in the microwave and subsequently set fire to.

“What?”

“I said you should ask me to be your mate, Der,” Stiles repeats, flinging the towel at the alpha. “By my next heat.”

“Stiles.”

“Don’t Stiles me. I’m not a kid and I’m over my heat hormones. I’m serious. I want you to ask me, but even more I want you to want to ask me.”

Derek frowns, wiping the juice from his beard. He glances down at the counter, wiping it down as well. Stiles doesn’t even think he’s aware that he does it, moves his hand to the scar residing three inches to the left of his navel. Stiles knows what’s there, has seen it hundreds of times now. It’s the reason Derek doesn’t want a mate.

Most of the time their bodies heal scars, unless by some miracle you can get injured and heal the wound during a lunar eclipse. Derek got his triskele that way, as did Scott with the bands around his bicep. There _are_ ways outside of those constraints but, like most loopholes, they come with a price. One way is when werewolves exchange mating bites; the body recognizes the bite as a bond and knows to let the mark take.

Another way - the _worst_ way - is to use something like wolfsbane or mistletoe to cauterize the wound into scarring, and that is exactly was Kate Argent did to Derek when he was sixteen. She bit him during one of his first alpha heats, shoved charred mountain ash and wolfsbane into the wound, and kissed him while the poison spread through his body. Then she burned his house down.

The surviving Hales - Laura, Cora, Peter - got their revenge though. The hunters not involved in the fire fled town and those who did thought it wise to take on two alphas and one beta. Peter was the one to deliver the final blow to Kate’s life, slit her throat and left her body on Gerard’s doorstep. 

Derek’s uncle has been on the run ever since, not that the Argent patriarch can come after him. Chris compiled evidence on his sister and turned it into the Sheriff on the first anniversary of the fire, got his father thrown into jail for the rest of his life. Privately, Derek once told Stiles that he thought Peter used the murder as a reason to get out of Beacon Hills once and for all.

So Stiles gets it, why Derek has always said Stiles is free to find another alpha _if_ he wants to. Kate hadn’t allowed Derek to give her the bite in return so the bond never took, but the alpha is still sensitive to the idea of a permanent binding.

“Why?” Derek asks, breaking Stiles out of his revelry. “We, three weeks ago you were bitching about society’s view on omegas and the pressure that gets placed on your shoulders to find a mate.”

“I am allowed to think it’s classist, Der; you never saw the looks people use to give me at Stanford. But the reason I want it, want you to be my mate, has nothing to do with the constraints placed upon me by bigoted old alphas who still think taking an omega during their heat without consent is alright.”

“Stiles-"

“Hear me out, okay?” Stiles runs a hand through his hair, resting it under the collar of his shirt. “We’ve been dating for like a year, right?”

Derek makes a movement that could be interpreted as a shrug.

“Whatever, we’ve been dating and you know it.”

He hopes. He hopes Derek knows it because it’s been months since Stiles stopped pretending he was able to imagine himself off in the future with some other alpha, a pup that didn’t resemble himself and Derek on his hip. Derek has to know that.

“Look, Derek, I love you, I tell you that all the time. I’ve loved you since I was sixteen and you punched Jackson in the face for insulting Scott.”

Derek kind of chuckles. “You lusted after me, Stiles, that’s not the same.”

“It was a different kind of love, deal with it.”

“What’s your point?”

“I love you, Derek, and I love that we can have this,” he motions the air between himself and Derek, “without needing to label it, but I want more. I want a mate. I want you.”

“I want you too.”

“So ask me. I’m giving you permission. But if you can’t,” he says, sliding from the stool and walking around the island, “we need to stop this. I know I’m only twenty four but finding someone else may take years.”

A flare of possession makes Derek’s eyes glow red, his hands reaching out to pull Stiles in by his hips. He growls against Stiles’ lips, their foreheads pressed together. Stiles smooths the fabric across the alpha’s stomach, winding his arms around Derek’s waist.

“Tell me you’ll think about it, alright?”

Derek huffs and kisses him, slips his tongue into Stiles' mouth without warning and tugs him forward until they’re flush together. Stiles moves his hands to cup Derek’s face, pulling away only to speak against his lips.

“Promise me, Derek.”

“Mine,” is all the alpha gets out before he lifts Stiles onto the counter, knocking what’s left of his cup of apple juice on its side. 

Stiles doesn’t complain as it seeps into his shirt or when his pants are discarded into the growing juice puddle on the floor. His body wants to protest against being sexed up so soon after being in heat but the moment Derek puts his mouth on Stiles’ dick, his wolf preens. _He’s going to be our mate_ it yips. _He’s going to be our mate_.


	2. I remember all the sounds you used to make

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for comments and kudos and general interest in this story! I have a vague sense of the plot now and just so you know, it isn’t going to be all fun. I struggle to not write angst into my stories and the _All We Are_ pieces are anomalies amongst the rest of my repertoire. There will be fluff and sex, eventually, but I don’t want that to be solely what this story is about.
> 
> So, let's get to it, shall we?

Three days later Stiles finds himself at Scott and Allison’s for some well deserved bro time when his bestie decides to share his opinion on Stiles wanting Derek as a mate.

“Are you absolutely sure about this, Stiles? Marriage is one thing but mates are for life. What if you change your mind in a couple of years? Derek isn’t exactly-”

Stiles huffs, spitting “exactly what, Scott?”

“Dude, put the eyes away,” Scott sighs, squirming around in his chair. “I just worry about you. This is a big deal, not only for you but the rest of the pack as well.”

“Half of you are married or engaged.”

“Yeah, well, still. You don’t get redos when you seal that type of bond.”

“Tell that to the fifty percent divorce rate amongst people our age,” Stiles quips. “Tell that to your dad.”

He immediately feels guilty and Scott has every right in the world to reply “you’re a dick. Give me back my daughter; I am revoking your godfather privileges.”

“Aw, but Scotty, that still leaves me with best friend privileges, bro privileges, and uncle privileges. Surely my current possession of your angel cake pup falls under one of those.” Stiles waves a hand above the sleepy baby ball on his chest. “She’s out, buddy, and I know you’ve been having problems with this all week.”

“I still hate you.” Scott flashes his alpha eyes for effect and Stiles snickers. “Did I tell you Agent Douchebag actually called me a couple of weeks ago and wanted to meet her?”

“Nope,” Stiles says, nose twitching in an anticipatory sneeze. “What’d you say?”

“That he could take his requests and shove them up his ass. I told Mom and she cooked me my favorite dinner.” Scott grins, eyes flicking to his daughter. She makes a soft mewling noise followed by a gurgle from her stomach. “She’s going to fart on you.”

“What a lovely baby.”

“Soph’s got colic super bad, man. Allison thinks it’s because we switched the brand of her baby food. I think it’s because she keeps sticking her foot in her mouth and sucking on it.”

“What does your mom think?”

Scott just shrugs, head lolling against the arm of the chair he curled up on. “Babies will be babies whether they’re werewolves or humans and you just have to accommodate to their needs best you can before you want to shoot yourself in the head.”

“That’s reassuring.” Sophie squirms a little in her sleep, pulling the fabric of Stiles’ shirt to her mouth. “Good thing she works with adults then, huh?”

“I’m gonna tell her you said that, Stiles.” Stiles shoots Scott a shit eating grin. “’Sides, she’s your mom too.”

“Yeah yeah, hold the married parents card over my head why don’t you? You’re just upset she never asked you to be her man of honor when she got married to my dad.”

Scott kicks at the couch, shaking it a bit. Stiles immediately brings his hands up to cover Sophie, hoping she doesn’t stir. Maybe it’s because she’s human and not werewolf, but she just lets out a tiny puff of air and curls her fists in Stiles' shirt. Stiles sets his hands back down, one across her back and the other behind his head.

“Really though, are you sure about Derek? It doesn’t sound like he actually agreed to anything.”

“I told him to think about it. It’s been three days and if I push, it’ll make everything worse.”

“That’s not exactly how a mate declaration is supposed to work, bro.”

Stiles shrugs and focuses his hearing on Sophie’s heartbeat. “We’re not really conventional people. Neither are you though. You married a hunter and look how that turned out: you have this precious little pup and a wife who could probably kill you with a paperclip and a pound of butter.”

“Such a flatterer, Stiles,” comes from the side of the couch. Stiles doesn’t have to look up to recognize Allison hovering above, dimpling at him the way she always does. “I’d only need half the butter to kill you.”

“Ally, if Scott wouldn’t threaten to hurt me, I would kiss you.”

“Uh huh.” Allison pushes his feet out of the way to set at the far end of the couch, shifting silently until she’s comfortable. “I’m sure Derek would be thrilled.”

“What is it with you two giving me advice? You _like_ Derek. I expect this from, I don’t know, like Danny. Or my dad.”

Scott makes a noise that can only be described as ‘ _pfft_ ’ into his arm and Allison simpers.

“Your dad _loves_ Derek, Stiles. When you were at college he went to Wednesday dinner with all of our parents every week, this after Melissa declared them 'The Empty Nesters Club'. He’s number four in your dad's speed dial after you, Scott, and Melissa.”

Stiles sighs, thumbing at Sophie’s wispy hair. It’s the one thing that she inherited from both her parents, the only feature that equally represents them. She’d had a tiny patch of dark brown hair when she was born that Scott had a habit of nuzzling because it was so smooth. Now it’s a couple of inches long, silky and wild.

“What about that girl you work with? The receptionist that works on the floor above you?” Allison asks, braiding her hair to one side.

“Kinsley?”

“Is she the one that grabbed your butt?” Scott adds.

“Yeah.”

“You said she was cute. Plus she’s a beta so you wouldn’t have to worry about the whole switching alpha loyalties.”

Stiles sighs, shifting Sophie again. “You guys do know that Derek and I are dating, right? I feel like no one knows this I’m not sure why.”

“Yes, we know Stiles, everyone complains that you two always reek of each other,” Allison huffs, pinching at his heel. “But Derek’s always been adamant about not wanting a mate. He’s purposefully encouraged you to go find other people.”

“Al’s right, remember Aubrey?”

Oh god, does he remember Aubrey. They dated for a month and half before the girl started talking moving in together and how to arrange their heat schedules. She was also an omega and that should have thrown Stiles off of a relationship with her before it ever began. Not that two omegas can’t be mates. Practically any combination of werewolf can but it’s just rare to find a pair of omegas, almost as rare as a pair of alphas; statistically most omegas are mated to alphas, and betas to other betas.

Then again, Derek’s older sister Laura is mated to another alpha in New York. Stiles has never met him but Brandon seems like a nice guy based on what he’s heard from Cora. Derek hates him though and calls him Badger behind closed doors.

“You bring Aubrey up to spite me, McCall, but you always forget I knew Kira.”

Scott growls and Allison snickers. There was year between high school and college in which the two lovebirds called it quits and during that time, Scott met a kitsune named Kira. She’d been pretty cool about being Scott’s rebound and was immensely on board with not wanting anything serious. Scott never spent his heat with her but that didn’t mean they didn’t sleep together. Even if Stiles hadn’t been a werewolf, he still would have been able to smell sex in the tiny dorm room he and Scott shared.

In the end their relationship ran its course into friendship and nothing more. Allison has never even been bitter about it because she also dated someone while they were apart, another hunter named Nathan. But while Scott still keeps in touch with Kira, Allison hasn’t spoken to Nathan since.

“Ha ha. Maybe we should talk about Luca.”

Allison bursts into laughter then, loud enough that Sophie wakes. Stiles swings his feet out of the hunter’s lap, rearranging himself with Sophie tucked in his arms. Scott’s grinning, the same stupid puppy grin he mastered when they were kids.

“Do you hear this, Soph? Your mommy and daddy are being mean to me. Maybe I should steal you away so you don’t grow up with their criticism.”

Sophie just rubs at her face with chubby little hands and yawns, nose turned up in the air. It’s the only trait she inherited explicitly by having a werewolf for a father: an elevated sense of smell. Stiles kisses her forehead, scenting her with his nose.

“You kidnap my daughter, Stiles, and I’ll kill you so swiftly you won’t even have time to worry that Derek hasn’t agreed to be your mate.”

And Stiles, because he’s feeling snarky, curls the right corner of his mouth into a smirk. “With half a pound of butter?”

Allison just dimples at him.

\- - -

The following weekend Stiles is at home, cleaning his living room when there is a knock at the door. He sets a bottle of Windex and paper towel down on the counter that separates the room from the kitchen, glancing at the clock. There’s another knock then and only because he’s a werewolf can he hear the quiet “hmph”.

“Hello Lydia,” he greets, glancing down as he swings the door open. “Hello baby Martin.”

“Don’t call it that,” Lydia grimaces.

“Well don’t show up early, Lyds,” he says, leaning against the door. “I’m not done cleaning.”

“I got bored, Stiles. Let me in, my feet hurt.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be wearing four inch heels.” 

Lydia shrugs and pushes past him, stepping out of her pumps and curling her toes against the hardwood. Stiles closes the door and takes her coat, hanging it up on the coat rack. She turns her nose up at the smell of chemicals and sighs, making her way towards the couch.

“I’m going to keep wearing them until my feet start swelling, which who knows when that will start.” Lydia slumps onto the couch, pulling her feet up with her. She pats at her stomach just once and sighs again. “I’m really not looking forward to that.”

“God forbid the great Lydia Martin be seen without heels,” Stiles jests, gathering the cleaning supplies from the coffee table and counter. “You want anything to drink?”

“Orange juice if you have any.”

“Comin’ right up.”

Stiles sets about putting the cleaning supplies away, Lydia flipping through channels on the television. He’s pouring her juice when there’s a clang from down the hall. Lydia turns her head around several times before going back to skimming programs. Stiles hands her a glass and places his own down on a coaster.

“So, how are you?”

“Fine, work’s busy as always, but that’s life.”

“And how is baby Martin?”

“I don’t know, Stiles, it’s a blob a cells right now.” Lydia sets her juice down and leans her head back against the couch. “I still can’t believe I’m pregnant.”

“Well my dear, that’s what happens when you have unprotected sex with your ex.”

Lydia rolls her eyes hard, pointing a finger at his chest when she says, “just you wait, Stilinski, I can’t wait until you’re the one knocked up. We’ll see how equipped you are then when you’re carrying a pup and Derek’s gone all protective mate on you.”

This time it’s Stiles’ turn to frown. “Who told you? Was it Scott?”

“Nope, Isaac actually. Allison’s the one who told him.”

“And you’re here for your intervention?”

“No, I’m here because you promised me dinner. But we can talk about you wanting Derek to be your mate while we eat.”

“Nah,” Stiles says, scratching his neck, “I rather talk about you and how you’re going to handle having a kid. Have you even told Jackson?”

The strawberry blond flinches almost unnoticeably, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. He left for London and he’s not coming back. We broke up for a reason and the last thing I want is to be forced into a relationship neither of us will be good at.”

“Lydia,” he says, taking her hands in his own. “You need to tell him. Werewolves are weird about pups.”

“I’ll tell him once I make it past the first trimester and that’s another month away. No need to worry him before then. This is the period when I’m mostly likely to lose it, right?”

“Lyds, no one would think badly of you if you decided you didn’t want to keep it. I promise. Melissa would probably help you find the best clinic in the northern half of California.”

Lydia shakes her head, pulling one hand away from Stiles to place over her stomach. “It’s not that. It’s just, I’m a planner. I’m good at planning. I planned high school so I could graduate with as many AP credits as BHHS offered. I planned undergrad so I could get my degree in two and a half years. I _planned_ using my dissertation to get the Field’s medal. I did all of that with ease.”

“Only you could say taking twenty one hours every semester _and_ cramming a Ph.D. into three years was done with ease.”

“Don’t start,” Lydia says, squeezing his hand. “I didn’t plan this. Not now, at least. I just need some time to get used to the idea of growing a tiny being inside my body,”

“We’re all here for you, just remember that, okay?”

“Yes.” Lydia squints her eyes before turning halfway around the couch. “Okay, what the hell is that noise?”

“What noise?”

“That banging. I heard it when I got here and it’s been repeating for the past three minutes.”

Stiles tilts his head to the side, looking past her down the hall.

“You can hear that?”

“Of course I can hear that and now would be a really good time for you to tell me I’m not _hearing_ hearing things because I really don’t think I can handle being a harbinger of death at the moment.”

“Oh, don’t do that,” Stiles grins, “that’s just Alan.”

Lydia raises an eyebrow incredulously, taking a sip of her drink. “Who’s Alan?”

“My hamster.”

“You bought a hamster?”

“No." Stiles shakes his head, letting go of Lydia’s hand to reach for his own drink. “He was given to me.”

“Derek gave you a hamster?”

“Why do you immediately assume it was Derek?”

She offers him a flat look and Stiles rolls his eyes. “Scott would have told someone if it had been him or Allison, Isaac would have said something if it had been one of the betas, and Danny doesn’t care enough. That leaves Derek.”

“Well he wasn’t the one who gave him to me. Not technically.”

“Oh?” Lydia shifts on the couch, stretching her legs out across the cushions. “Then who did?”

“Parrish.”

“Parrish, as in your father’s deputy, Parrish?”

“Yep.”

Lydia is wearing her ‘ _what the fuck is going on_ ’ look and Stiles laughs. “Parrish gave you a hamster.”

“Have you really not heard this story yet? Everyone in the department’s a gossip, including my dad. I thought you talked to him like every other day.”

“I talk to him every few days, Stilinski, but he cancelled on lunch with me this week. So no, I haven’t heard this story.”

“Alright,” Stiles concedes. “Get up, I will tell you while I cook.”

“Why do I have to move? Your kitchen is ten feet away.”

“Because I don’t want to yell and this way you can passive aggressively critique my cooking skills while I’m cooking instead of after.”

Lydia heaves a sigh, like she can’t believe that this is her life. Stiles grins at her, grabbing both their drinks. He sets her juice down at the table, pulling out the only chair with a seat rest. Lydia sits down as Stiles retrieves things from cabinets and turns the oven on.

“So,” she starts, picking through the mail on the table.

“I’m going to preface this story with a disclaimer,” and that is seriously an understatement. “Some of this came from Derek, part of it came from Parrish, and most of it came from my dad, but it got to a certain point that he started laughing so hard I thought he was having a heart attack but in reality he just lost his shit.” Lydia’s staring at him again, eyes narrowed. “So, I guess it was like two days before my heat, Dad sent Parrish out on a domestic dispute call. I haven’t had time to go nose around and find the actual report, but this couple had recently gotten a divorce and weren’t really adjusting well to shared custody. Apparently, the mother had bought their kid a hamster prior to the judge’s decision and when the judge granted the father full custody, neither she or her kid handled it well.”

“Because she thought she deserved full custody?”

“No, because her ex went and also bought their kid a hamster.” Stiles pulls an eggplant out of the fridge, setting it down on top of the stove. “He didn’t check with her and after having their son for the weekend, the kid decided he didn’t want her hamster anymore.”

“Alan?”

“Alan. So fast-track to Parrish showing up at the ex-husband’s house. They were having it out in the driveway and their kid was crying in the grass. And as it was Sunday afternoon, everyone and their moms were home, also standing on their front lawns watching.”

“The life and times of Beacon Hills.”

“I know, right?” Stiles chuckles, reaching for the box of breadcrumbs he keeps in the pantry with the spice rack. “So Parrish got the kid to stop crying, which is a feat considering his parents were still yelling, eventually got the adults to stop shouting, and turned the mic on in his cruiser to warn everyone else to back off.”

“What about the parents?”

“They reconciled temporarily, I guess, and the ex-husband and kid went inside, and Parrish got the ex-wife into her car too. But before he could leave she shoved a hamster cage and bag of bedding into his arms and said she couldn’t keep him and as a member of law enforcement, it was his job to take abandoned animals.” Lydia kind of smirks, crossing her legs. “So - and this I have on the good word of three other deputies - _everyone_ knew what Parrish got called out on and because the force is worse than a bunch of middle school girls, they were uproarious when he got back. Even Derek was laughing, at least according to Greenberg. But instead of, you know, taking the hamster to animal services or a pet store, he went into Dad’s office and asked what to do with it.”

He pauses to retrieve the cutting board from the dishwasher as well as a butcher’s knife from the drawer. “Dad swears he wasn’t flippant in his response and I don’t really believe that because he was working on budget stuff, but he told Parrish to go find it an owner. So what does he do? Walks out of Dad’s office, heads straight for Derek’s desk, puts the cage and bag of bedding on top of the paperwork Derek was filling out and says ‘ _Your pack has a history of taking in strays._ ’”

“He did not.”

“No, he totally did, I got Tara to confirm it. Derek said it wasn’t even phrased as a question. Just a fact. _And_ , this is the kicker, he followed that up with ‘ _well, here’s another_ ’ and then just walked off.”

Lydia _is_ smirking now, arms crossed. “Please tell me Derek retaliated.”

“He wouldn’t tell me what exactly happened after that but Dad said he walked out of his office and Derek was all fangs and claws and there was bedding all over Parrish’s desk and the dude was just sitting there, giving zero fucks.”

“He knows Derek’s an alpha right?”

“Oh yeah, he just doesn’t give a shit.” Which he probably should. The guy’s human and Derek would have no qualms in injuring someone who insults his pack. “Dad had to suspend Derek for causing a scene.”

“I bet the other deputies enjoyed that.”

“Nope, they were actually kind of ticked because they knew he’d be taking time off during my heat anyways. They have started a betting pool as to when Der and Parrish are going to have it out though.”

“Oh really?” She simpers at him for a moment before flicking a section of hair behind her shoulder, lips curling into a full tilt smile. “Maybe he should be your mate, Stiles. If an alpha werewolf doesn’t scare him, I doubt anything you can do will.”

“I’m sure that’d go over with Derek just great.” Stiles mixes a few eggs together in a bowl, setting it aside to start slicing the eggplant. “I’d be all ‘Derek baby, since you don’t know if you want be my mate I’m going to go start dating the guy who insulted our family. I really enjoyed all the great, kinky heat sex. ‘Kay, thanks, bye!’ Oh yeah, he’d be thrilled.”

There’s a clunk from the hallway and Stiles turns to it before returning to chopping the eggplant. Lydia sighs, tangling her fingers through her hair. The oven beeps to indicate it’s preheated and Stiles starts dipping the sliced eggplant pieces in the egg.

“He likes you, you know. Parrish.”

“I know. Trust me, I’m _well_ aware. I caught him staring at my ass one time when I brought Derek and dad lunch. He wasn’t even subtle about it. Dad gave him his ‘I’m disappointed in you’ look and Derek flashed his eyes. Seriously, the dude’s got balls.” Alan must bump his way into the bathroom because the sound of the surface his ball is on changes. “Anyways, since Derek got sent home early and I was at his apartment working from home, he gave me the hamster, said Deputy Dickbag recovered the little booger, and I could keep him if I wanted to or else he was going to let him out into the Preserve.”

“He wouldn’t have done that,” Lydia counters, swirling the last bit of her juice at the bottom of her glass.

“I know. He wasn’t mad at the hamster, just Parrish making a mockery of him and our pack. So that’s why I named him Alan.”

Lydia tilts her head, eyes narrowing. Stiles gives her a few moments but it’s eventually clear she’s not going to make the connection which is really a shame because Scott almost pissed himself laughing and Derek called him an idiot in this affectionate tone before kissing him.

“Did you really never see _Jumanji_ when you were a kid?” Lydia purses her lips and waves a hand at him to continue. “We’re watching it later, okay? You’ll get the joke then.”

Lydia seems to take that as an affirmative and nods. Stiles covers the eggplant slices in breadcrumbs, arranging them on a baking sheet and setting it on the oven. He sets the timer, placing it down on the stove. It beeps at him while he’s lifting himself up on a bare section of counter, kicking his feet against the cabinets below.

“You do know that Derek and I are together, right? Not just spending our heats screwing because our bodies tell us to.”

“Of course I do, Stiles. Why?” Stiles casts his eyes down at the linoleum faux wood floor. “Is this because of Parrish?”

“It’s not just him. Like, everyone, well, mainly Scott, keeps asking me if I really want to do this. Now that Isaac knows I’m sure Erica will be calling to find out soon too. It’s, okay, take the force for example. Half the deputies still ask me when I’m going to find someone to settle down with when they know I drop by all the time to see Derek.”

“They know you’re sleeping with him. There’s a difference.” Lydia pushes out of her chair, nudging Stiles to scoot over so she can sit on the counter as well. “You’re the Sheriff’s son and he’s relatively new to the force compared to how long most of them have been there. It’s practically taboo to consider you two being together. Plus, no one thinks it’s serious because you don’t act like it’s serious.”

Stiles sighs, hanging his head. The timer starts ringing and he steps down, pulling on an oven mitt.

“You ready to talk about wanting Derek as a mate?” Lydia asks almost hesitantly, which is completely unlike her.

“There’s nothing to talk about. Not yet. I brought the idea up last week and like I told Scott and Allie, I’m not going to push. That’ll just scare him off.” He slides the baked pieces of eggplant onto an empty plate and spreads a new layer across the sheet. “I want him to ask me, Lyds."

“You could just ask him yourself,” she suggests, tapping her fingernails against the counter. “You never follow societal rules anyways.”

“I did though. This whole thing is me asking. I love him but I’m too old and we’ve been doing this for too long to not become mates.” Lydia makes a sympathetic noise as Stiles starts alternating spaghetti sauce and cheese over the first layer of baked eggplant. “You made the right choice telling Jackson no.”

It wasn’t an easy decision, not for Lydia or Jackson. And he knows it won’t be an easy choice for Derek, even with their history. It’s a tough decision when anyone decides to become someone else’s mate, even more difficult when you’re an alpha.

The bond of becoming mates won’t change them drastically like people used to say it would. They’ll both get a bit stronger, sure, but with a pack their size they’re easily stronger one on one if they were to go against any other were residing in Beacon Hills to begin with. It’s more the emotional connection and all that comes with it.

Alan is the one who breaks the silence that’s settled over the kitchen: he rolls by in the bright blue ball Stiles bought him the day before his heat. Lydia grimaces when he stops to clean himself, wiping his paws across his ears.

“Please tell me you didn’t subject him to having to hear and smell you and Derek fucking for five days straight.”

Stiles just starts laughing, sucking back sobs while Lydia stares at him like he’s crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is laughing because his dad was supposed to take care of Alan while Stiles was having his heat but the Sheriff didn’t want to play favorites and let Parrish get off scott free for not only instigating another deputy but also insulting his son’s pack, so Parrish got stuck with Alan.
> 
> (Please tell me someone else thought of this connection and laughed until they cried because I did and if you know where my name comes from now you will too.)
> 
> Deputy Pretty Eyes!
> 
> Somehow this became a deputy!Derek fic. Things are happening and I don’t have any control over them.


	3. but I keep my down despite the animals on your face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I currently have written for this story so don't expect updates to be weekly from here on out. I've got several other fics I need to work on or complete so it might be a while. Then again, I tend to crank out stories quickly when I'm stressed so I could be a big fat liar.
> 
> We just don't know.
> 
> Also, **WARNING!** : there is a mild description of a panic attack in this chapter, so if that triggers you, skip down to the - - - break. I've included the important stuff from the first half of the chapter in the ending notes.

Life goes on. The following week they celebrate Scott’s birthday as a pack, squished into the backyard of the house he and Allison bought the year before. Sophie gets passed around between Erica and Stiles while Scott and Isaac dole out plates of pizza, salad, and cake. Lydia makes the comment that they’re not poor high schoolers anymore and should really upgrade to actually dinners. Danny snorts and reminds her than this is a vast improvement from Isaac’s birthday last year where he made them go play laser tag.

Really, things are good up until Labor Day weekend. Stiles has the Saturday prior off from his job at the advertising company downtown, although he technically does clock an hour or two by working at home. Creating marketing campaigns for local businesses isn’t exactly the job he dreamed he’d have after college but it was the only thing he could find even with his MBA. Besides, his boss interprets half the shit that comes out of his mouth as well formed wit. Two of the last five consultations he’s been a part of were based on comments he made sarcastically.

The entire pack is at Derek’s house which is something that none of them could have imagined when they were but baby sophomores and Derek came back to Beacon Hills. Laura had still been there at the time, with a small pack of her own but no desire to stay in the sleepy town. She and Derek agreed to switch the cities they lived in since the Hales have always had a section of Beacon Hills and the Preserve to watch over.

The first couple of years, Derek hadn’t even lived in a house. Once he’d accepted that Scott and company weren’t going to leave him alone - Derek’s words, not Stiles’ - he’d bought a loft large enough to accommodate them all during pack meetings. He only furnished what was necessary, saying he had plans to move once the pack left for college.

What he really meant was he planned on tearing down the burnt remnants of his former home, plowing the building and filling in the catacombs below it with dirt. One of the betas in Laura’s pack was an architect and at her alpha's wishes, had drawn up blueprints for a new home, blueprints which Laura passed on to her brother prior to leaving.

All it took for Derek to consider following through was empty nest syndrome setting in after Stiles and the rest of the pack dispersed around the country. With little else to do and quarter of eight life insurance policies, Derek built the house he now resides in about half a mile away from where the old one use to be. There’s a greenhouse there now, courtesy of Lydia and Allison wanting instant access to several strains of rare wolfsbane should anyone ever become poisoned. 

After Derek had completed that project, he spent a year working as a librarian at the county library before applying to the police academy. He swears it had always been a thought in the back of his head that he’d eventually go into law enforcement because his father had also been a cop. Stiles thinks it’s because the Sheriff kept dropping hints about wanting more than two werewolves on the force.

Last time Stiles checked, there were seven now, two of whom are standing outside around the grill. Derek is chatting with Isaac about something, turning over veggie and hamburgers with a pair of tongs. Stiles thinks about focusing his hearing and eavesdropping when his thoughts start spinning. It occurs to him that this could be one of the last times he gets to have this: his pack and his family all in one place, happy and safe.

If Derek says no, declines the offer of becomes Stiles’ mate, that will leave him with finding someone else. And while that someone else could be a human or a werecoyote or a freaking abominable snowman, it’s likely it would be an alpha, one with their own pack. Most alphas have grown out of the ‘ _dominate your omega_ ’ stance a lot of the aging alphas have, but still. Mates are expected to join their significant other’s pack, if werewolves, and there is no way in _hell_ Scott or Derek would accept another alpha into theirs.

The panic attack comes out of nowhere and Stiles barely has the wherewithal to turn off the sink in the kitchen before rushing down the hall. He passes Allison on his way upstairs, brushing by her without a word. Once inside Derek’s bedroom, he slams the door, back pressed to the wood as he slides onto the ground. His hands are shaking and his lungs feel like they’re under twenty times sea level pressure.

“Stiles?” comes from the hallway. “Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“Noth-, nothing, Allison. Go back downstairs.” His voice wavers with every word and he curses. “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. You looked like you were about to puke.” There’s a pause and then she gasps. “Shit, are you having a panic attack?”

Stiles whines in confirmation, clenching his hands into fists to keep from shifting.

“I’m going to go get Derek, okay? Just breathe, Stiles. Breathe with me and start counting.”

“Not Derek!” he shouts, gritting his teeth as his canines extend. “Not Derek. Get Scott.”

“Okay,” she says, “okay. Stiles, start counting.”

He gets to two as Allison yells. There’s pounding on the stairs and then hushed conversation in the hallway. He thinks he hears Derek growl but then Scott’s knocking, asking for permission to come inside. Stiles scoots over and Scott slips in, immediately sinking down next to him.

“Scott,” his voice cracks.

“Hey buddy, how’s the breathing? Not good, huh. C’mon, hands up. What number were you on?”

“Three.”

“Okay, I’ll start on four. We’ll keep going until you want to stop, alright?”

Stiles nods, still hyperventilating as his mind whirls. Scott remains calm throughout the entire thing, talks to him in the same tone he uses when trying to calm Sophie down from a fit. Normally Stiles would call him out on it but right now he’s grateful that Scott has that tone at all. Really, best friends don’t come better than Scott. Once he’s capable of breathing normally, he hangs his head, arms trembling as he presses his palms flat against the hardwood. Scott rubs his back.

“You okay enough to talk?” he asks.

“Yeah, I just, yeah. Sorry I had Allison get you, I hope I didn’t pull you away from Sophie.”

“Nah, she’s good. Mom and Dad took her for a walk around the woods until things calmed back down.” Scott ruffles Stiles’ hair, a sad attempt at fixing it mussed state. “Wanna talk about what triggered you? I haven’t seen you have an attack that bad since you botched that one pitch back in February.”

“Can you get me a glass of water first? My throat’s dry.”

“Sure thing. I’ll be right back, okay? Why don’t you move off the floor?” he says, pulling Stiles up with him as he stands.

Stiles sits on the trunk at the foot of Derek’s bed, running his hands through his hair and across his face as Scott exits. He can hear whispers from the hallway then several sets of footsteps descending the stairs. When the door opens again it’s Derek, not Scott, holding a glass that Stiles stole from a bar during undergrad.

“Don’t blame Scott, I made him go outside,” he says, handing Stiles the glass and taking a seat next to him. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Thanks.”

Stiles gulps down the water in one go, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he’s done. He sets the glass on the floor next to the trunk and sighs, scooting closer to Derek. The alpha senses what he’s doing and drapes an arm around his waist, pulling him close.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not right now,” he murmurs against Derek’s neck, dragging his nose across the skin to scent him. “Not when our friends can hear us.”

“They wouldn’t listen in, Stiles,” Derek says, tilting his head up as Stiles continues his scent marking. “Do you want me to go get Scott again?”

“No, it’s, not now. Just give me a couple more minutes and then we can get back to hanging out with the fam, alright?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles makes a soft noise in his throat, snuffling as Derek runs his fingers through his still wayward hair. It’s nice that Derek lets him do this, understands him well enough to know how to react after a panic attack. Derek’s witnessed them first hand before, without the aid of Scott or the Sheriff.

“Stiles?” he asks; Stiles can feel the vibrations of his vocal chords from where his lips are pressed to Derek’s neck. “Is this about what we talked about a couple of weeks ago?”

Stiles stops his scenting, sighing against the collar of Derek’s sweater. When he pulls away Derek’s eyes flicker questioningly across his face, hazel irises disappearing between quick flashes of red. He had been hoping to avoid this.

“Let’s talk about it later.” Derek frowns and his eyes go back to their normal color. “Please, Der.”

Derek kisses him, long and slow, before pulling him to his feet. He slips his hand into Stiles’ and guides him downstairs and back outside. Erica approaches them with a burger, smiling kindly. The pack knows better than to crowd around him and for the most part, they keep their distance. Stiles accepts the burger and kisses Erica on the cheek before tugging Derek in the direction of the blanket they were sitting on earlier.

The conversation eventually slips back to normal, the betas crowded on one blanket, the humans on another. The Sheriff and Melissa come back from their walk with Sophie, the baby curled around her grandmother’s neck. John takes a seat next to Stiles and squeezes his shoulder, a silent gesture for ‘ _I hope you’re alright._ ’

Once everyone has left, Derek goes about cleaning as Stiles takes a shower. He pulls a pair of shorts on that he keeps in Derek’s dresser and a shirt from his closet, crawling under the covers. It’s too early to go to sleep for the night but panic attacks always exhaust him and after spending several hours with the pack post the one he had today, he just wants to relax.

Derek flicks the lights off when he comes into the room, closing the door behind him. There’s no one else in the house except them but it’s a habit he’s never been able to break. He strips down to his boxer briefs then and joins Stiles in bed.

“You want to go sleep or do you want to talk?” he asks, curling an arm around Stiles’ waist. They’re back to chest and Stiles wiggles ever so slightly closer, until he can feel Derek’s breath on his skin.

“Talk in the morning, Dee.”

\- - -

But they don’t talk in the morning. Stiles wakes up to Derek mouthing at his neck and skirting his fingers along the strip of hair descending below his shorts. It’s rare that they get this, waking up together with no rush to go to work. Derek has the day off because he agreed to work Labor Day and he seems keen to enjoy it in bed with Stiles.

Lazy kisses and unhurried touches ensue. The only sounds that fill the room are their breathing and the covers crinkling as they move. Their clothes disappear somewhere in the mix, dropped on the floor without a care. Stiles reaches into one of the nooks of the headboard in search of the lube as Derek bites at his neck, bringing bruises to the surface.

The bites never break the skin, their marks fading after a few seconds. Only once has Derek ever sunk fangs into his skin and that had been in the throes of the first alpha heat he spent with Stiles. It wasn’t deep enough to be a mating bond and almost immediately he’d lapped at the wound until it healed, but sometimes when Derek has his mouth _so close_ to Stiles’ neck, his wolf writhes with excitement, chanting _mate mate mate_. Now Stiles’ wolf wails in his head as Derek opens him up one finger at a time.

There’s no rush when Derek presses his way inside Stiles, just a loud exhale and a soft whine. Stiles licks and nips and scents the alpha’s neck, content to let him do all the work. Derek huffs against his chin, mumbling something against the skin before latching onto his shoulder. Stiles just whispers praises in his ears, scraping his fingernails across Derek’s triskele.

Derek rolls them over at some point, never pulling entirely out, and Stiles wiggles his hips as he adjusts to their new position. Loving is the only way to describe the way Derek is looking up at him, cheeks flushed red and a shiny sheen of sweat across his brow. Sometimes he partially shifts, other times his eyes glow red, but it’s not like that this morning. Today is meant just for the sake of enjoying each other.

Stiles circles his hips in small increments, until he can’t stand it and Derek is pressing his fingers hard enough into his thighs he can feel in his bones. He places both hands on the alpha’s chest, raising himself up before sinking back down, a moan spilling out of his lips. The rhythm and pace he sets is just quick enough to keep him on edge and just slow enough to drive Derek crazy. 

When his thighs start to tremble he doesn’t even bother holding off. Derek pulls him down by the neck and into a bruising kiss. He meets Stiles on an upward thrust, groans as he spills inside him. It’s enough to make Stiles come a few quick snaps of his hips later. He grants himself a few more moments of afterglow before lifting himself up enough that Derek’s softening cock can slip out of him and as much as he hates the empty feeling that he’s always left with after, it’s worth it when Derek presses his fingers to his hole in an effort to keep his come inside.

Sometimes during their heats, when Stiles is oversensitive and usually coming down from the fever on his last day, Derek won’t fuck him. Instead he’ll either let Stiles top or rut against the inside of his thighs. Either way it ends with Derek pushing his come inside Stiles’ hole. He claims it’s an alpha thing, a biological necessity his body insists on doing because Stiles is an omega. Stiles calls him a weirdo but never shies away from it.

It’s a scent claim more than anything. Even before they were serious, sex outside heats typically involved smearing a mixture of saliva and come into each other’s skin. Humans can’t smell it but other weres can and that’s the point. Stiles never allowed any of the other three people he’s slept with to do that, especially Aubrey. Granted, Derek’s the only person he’s ever fucked or let fuck him without a condom, but that mostly has to do with how uncomfortable it gets when Derek knots him.

Eventually Derek slides out from beneath Stiles to retrieve a washcloth, wiping himself down as he strides back into the room. He rolls Stiles onto his back, cleaning him in the same manner he does during heats, leaving kisses across his skin to soothe the roughness of the towel. Stiles tugs at his shoulders until Derek crawls back under the covers. They scoot away from the wet spot on Stiles’ side of the bed and snuggle close. 

Blissfully domestic as it is, Stiles drifts back to sleep. Their phones both start going off a couple hours later, rattling against the headboard. Stiles squirms out of Derek’s grip to silence his, skimming the message on the screen. Behind him Derek sighs and scratches at his beard. There’s probably something wrong with him that he knows _exactly_ what that sounds like but he shrugs it off and curls back against the alpha’s chest.

“D’you get a text from Scott?”

“Yeah, something about needing someone to babysit Sophie.”

“Hmm,” Stiles hums, face pressed against Derek’s neck. “He probably sent it to the entire pack.”

“Maybe.” Derek presses a kiss to Stiles’ hair, sighing. “You think we should say yes? I do owe him for treating that stray dog last week.”

“Why do you say we?”

“Because you love me?” Derek says with a smirk; Stiles bites his chin. “Like you would say no to time with your goddaughter. She’s the first pup to join the pack.”

“I dunno, Der,” Stiles replies, swinging his leg over Derek’s stomach to sit upright. “The betas were definitely puppy-like when you came waltzing back into Beacon Hills and attracted them like bears to honey.”

Derek rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. Stiles grins down at him, poking his nose. The alpha doesn’t care for that apparently and lets his eyes bleed red before baring his teeth.

“I’ll text Scott if we can spend the night at my place. Alan’s been alone since yesterday morning.” Derek furrows his eyebrows at the name and Stiles chuckles lightly. “You like him and you know it. Hand me my phone.”

Derek does as asked, rubbing circles into Stiles’ thighs as he texts out ‘ _D and I will take Soph for the evening._ ’ He pauses before hitting send, adding ‘ _And thank you again, for yesterday._ ’ The phone’s screen goes back to the homepage as Stiles drops the phone on top of his pillow. Derek’s watching him carefully, a somber look gracing his face.

“What?”

“We should talk about yesterday. About what triggered you.” Stiles makes a noise in his throat and Derek wraps his hands around Stiles’ knees. “I know you don’t want to but this is important, Stiles. Was it really what we talked about the weekend after your heat? Because-"

Stiles interrupts him, placing both hands over Derek’s lips. He knows Derek hates it, can see the dislike skew his features, but he keeps his fingers pressed to the alpha’s mouth, despite the prick of Derek’s canines against his palm.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Derek mumbles something but Stiles shakes his head. “No, I mean it Derek.”

Derek pulls Stiles hands away from his mouth, frowning. “Don’t do that again."

“Drop it.”

“Stiles, this isn’t something you just drop. I didn’t know you-”

“Derek, seriously, I don’t-, we aren’t. No. Look, I’m going to feel like I’m pressuring you if we talk about it, okay? Because _I am_. I hate that I essentially gave you an ultimatum and you know what I want the outcome to be. I want you to make this choice on your own, I want you to want this. So we’re not talking about it. My heat is still two months away and I am not going to pressure you into a making a decision right now, ‘kay? Let’s not worry about this until then.”

“Stiles,” Derek says in his ‘ _do you know why I pulled you over_ ’ tone.

“Do you really want to have another ‘be my mate’ conversation?” Derek sighs and drops his hands. “Okay then.”

Stiles’ phone whistles at him. He unlocks the screen and reads the text message, pointedly ignoring the way Derek is scowling. He types out a reply and tosses the phone out of reach, leaning down to brush his lips across Derek’s.

“Scott says he’ll drop her off at my place in two hours.”

“Don’t deflect.” 

Stiles kisses Derek before he can continue, nipping at his bottom lip. A wisp of a growl rumbles from his mouth but he returns the kiss nonetheless. What starts as complacent turns into something bruising and frantic, something that makes them breathe hard through their noses. At some point Stiles pins Derek’s hands above his head, rolling his hips.

“Wanna fuck me again before we’re stuck with an innocent pup for the rest of the day?” Stiles asks between kisses, fingers tightening around Derek’s wrists as his claws grow.

“How ‘bout I knot you instead,” Derek counters, shifting beneath Stiles so his cock can rub against the swell of Stiles’ ass, “make it so you _reek_ when Scott shows up at your apartment.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, babe.”

“Just you wait, Stiles."

"Until what, Derek?" His voice hitches as Derek sucks the skin across his Adam’s apple between his lips.

"Just wait until it’s _us_ and _you’re_ the one texting the pack to watch our-"

Stiles doesn’t let him finish. He releases Derek’s arms to pull the alpha close, fingers curled into his hair. Their teeth clack together on impact but Stiles doesn’t care enough to stop, not even when he tastes blood. Derek doesn’t seem to care either: he shoves two fingers into Stiles’ hole, still loose and slick from earlier.

Their eyes glow amber and red then and remain that way through the second round. Only when he is blissed out, Derek crowded behind him murmuring nonsense into his ear and knotted inside him, does Stiles allow himself to consider what Derek said.

Talk like that is normal during their heats, sure, but that’s the point: to send their bodies into a frenzied state that craves sex. It’s normal for them to say meaningless things like that because the fever burns down to their cores until it’s convinced breeding has occurred. More than once has Derek said he’d get Stiles with a pup if he’d _only let him_ , if he’d go without the shot he always gets the week before his heats to prevent that from happening.

But to hear it outside those six times of the year where dirty talk is the norm for days on end? It makes Stiles’ skin itch and his wolf jittery. It wants to roll over and let Derek do it, breed him, because it’s already declared the alpha to be its mate.

Instead Stiles clenches around Derek’s knot, grinning at the gasp he elicits from the alpha, and tells himself he should know better than to let his wolf make decisions like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' panic attack is triggered by the idea of not being able to spend family time with the pack _if_ Derek says no to being his mate. Scott talks him through it and after, Derek asks if their mates conversation was the trigger. Stiles says they'll talk about it later but they don't. 
> 
> As we all know, Stiles likes to ignore problems until they just go away and this situation is no different. It’s not exactly a smart thing to do but he’d argue it’s preferable to living in a constant state of uncertainty. He shouldn't really worry though. ~~I'm a sucker for happy endings so if you think anything other than that impending lovefest is going to happen, you're wrong.~~
> 
> Until next time my dears.


	4. how many times have I said

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to write other things last week but I couldn't because of TW and I am telling you now, I am never going to be okay with what happened. I won't spoil it for those of you who haven't watched but basically my heart is full of sad.
> 
> SO. This chapter was suppose to be a short filler but it turned into a normal length chapter of both filler and background because I think _way too much_ about the background build up in my stories.
> 
> I am sorry if this gives you feels.

One of Stiles’ earliest memories is a conversation he finds himself reminiscing more and more about these days. He was four, just shy of four and a half - there was a _huge_ difference back then -, lying in the middle of his parent’s bed, belly down as he watched his mother fold laundry. She was so far off from sick then no one would have ever guessed four years later she would be in the hospital and nothing, not even werewolf healing factor, would be able to save her.

Stiles remembers the conversation because it was the very first time he ever asked her about what having a mate meant.

“Why do you ask, honey?” she had replied, pausing her folding to lay one of her husband’s, then deputy, uniform shirts across an ironing board.

“This kid at preschool said that we all have mates and when we meet them, our wolves know. They howl, we claim them, we’re stuck.”

Claudia had made a face at that and abandoned the still warm pile of clothes. “This little boy isn’t a werewolf, is he?”

“Nah,” Stiles had said, crawling into his mother’s lap. “He’s human but he says he’s gonna get the bite when he’s old enough. He told Danny his daddy can sue someone to make sure he gets it.”

“Stiles, what did I say about listening in on other people’s conversations?”

Four year old Stiles had frowned and let his eyes glow out of embarrassment, tucking his head beneath the long waves of his mother’s hair. “I’m sorry, mommy.”

“I know, baby.” Claudia had muted the television as Stiles braided her hair. “We do have mates but it isn’t as simple as just meeting someone.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re too young, sweetheart, you wouldn’t understand.” Claudia turned her head towards the door, a grin coming across her face. “Your daddy’s home.”

Stiles hadn’t wasted a moment before scrambling off the bed and down the steps. John tried to work days during the week so he’d have weekends off to spend with his family and today was no different. He’d scooped Stiles up from where he’d flown over the last two steps and almost faceplanted, his son giggling as he was carried back upstairs.

“Daddy! Mommy says I’m too young to understand what a mate is,” Stiles had proclaimed, arms around his father’s stubbly neck, “but I wanna know.”

“John.”

“You’re a nosy thing, aren’t you.”

John had set him down on the bed next to Claudia, bending over his son to kiss his wife on the cheek before sitting down on the edge of the mattress.

“A mate is someone you choose to share your life with, Stiles. Someone you tell all your secrets and fears, someone who wants the same things for the future. For humans it’s a bit different because we don’t typically use that term but for your mother, it adds another level of connection past the fact that somewhere in the mess of our office is a marriage certificate with both our names on it.”

Claudia had snickered which made Stiles laugh.

“You see, son, mom can sense things that happen to me and I can feel the same for her, just to a lesser degree.”

“Like when you have to chase people and taser them?”

John had sheepishly smiled and received a look Stiles wouldn’t realize until much later in life was his mother’s cover for ‘ _I can’t believe you, you little shit._ ’

“Not like that, baby,” Claudia had offered, holding his hands in hers. “We’ll explain when you’re older and it’ll make more sense then.”

Stiles remembers tracing the scar along the inside of her right wrist, fingertips following the dips and smooth scar tissue hidden beneath a bracelet she’d fashioned out of dyed hemp string. 

“What’s the difference between a soulmate then? Because he, the kid at preschool, said he’d already met his. But I don’t believe him because he’s only known Lydia for three weeks and I’ve known her for five.”

“Oh christ,” his father had said, scratching the back of his neck. “Can you explain this to him? I’m going to change.”

“Your father always gets flustered when we talk about mates, Stiles, never forget that. You’d think for someone who has his mating mark in a place so visible he’d be more comfortable.” Claudia had smiled and run her fingers through Stiles’ wayward hair as he wiggled around on the comforter. “A soulmate is likened to the term mate but they are not necessarily people we are destined to fall in love with. Sometimes they’re siblings, other times best friends, or even people who simply have a profound impact on our lives.”

“Is daddy your mate and your soulmate?”

“Nope.”

The Sheriff has told him to this day he will never forget the abject horror Stiles had on his face when he’d walked out of the closet, mouth wide open in a silent gasp. Claudia had been beaming at him, this kind glint in her eyes, and waved her husband back over to the bed. And Stiles, naturally, had started spewing questions at a mile a minute the moment his brain caught up.

“What do you mean daddy isn’t your soulmate!” he’d cried, inching away from his mother.

“You know Heather’s mom? Aunt Mica?”

“Yeah!”

“She’s my soulmate.”

“But mom-”

“Don’t interrupt, son.”

“I met Mica when I was your age, baby, and we’ve been best friends ever since. She’s the one who introduced me to your father.” Claudia had reached out to press a cowlick on the top of Stiles’ head back into place. “So see? Soulmates and mates are not synonymous.”

“Do you think I have a soulmate, mom?” Stiles had asked, now playing with his stuffed wolf plush.

“I don’t know. Perhaps. Now, why don’t you go put your stuffed animal in your room and then go help your father cook dinner?”

Two months later, Scott joined his preschool class. For reasons Stiles couldn’t fathom, no one wanted to talk to the kid with the shaggy hair and adorable brown eyes, so he took it upon himself to make sure Scott wouldn’t spend recess alone. They had sat in the sandbox of the playground the entire twenty minutes talking about what it was like to have both a werewolf _and_ a human for parents. By end of the day, Stiles had come to the conclusion that Scott was his soulmate and Scott had agreed in earnest.

Which is why, several months later, they stole that fateful knife, sliced their palms open, and become blood brothers because no one would ever be able to say they weren’t real brothers ever again.

(When they were college seniors, their parents had insisted they both get graduation announcements because ‘ _it’s a rite of passage_ ’ and ‘ _dammit, Stiles, you cannot be the only member of the pack to not send out announcements. Do you know how many times Derek has asked where yours is?_ ’ Scott sent Agent McCall an announcement three months before he graduated from Stanford but instead of only including his name card, Stiles had placed one of his name slips in the envelope as well. And because they could never pass up an opportunity to piss off Scott’s dad, they signed the envelope ‘ _your not-son_ AND _his brother._ ’ Mr. McCall did not attend.)

When Rafael left Melissa, Stiles asked his mother how mates could do that. He’d been sitting between his father’s open legs as the man slept, head in his wife’s lap. Stiles could see his claiming bite, the scar dark on the inside of his elbow.

“If a were takes another were as a mate, we’re bound to them for life. It’s the same for real wolves, Stiles, and we abide by those rules as well. But for humans, it’s a bit different. Scott’s mother will be able to move on and find someone new, even though she will still bear his mark. Mr. McCall might meet someone else one day, but it won’t be the same. If,” she had paused, looking down at John, “if anything were to ever happen to me, your father would be able to fall in love with someone else too.”

“But that’ll never happen, right?”

“I hope not, baby.”

\- - -

After Claudia passed away, Scott and Stiles became inseparable, even more than they had been in the past. As a result, Melissa and John formed a bond over their sons’ friendship. Melissa had been close with Claudia the last few years of her life but with John’s promotion to Sheriff, hadn’t spent much time with him. But being single parents, they knew better than most the strain of raising a rambunctious preteen werewolf.

Heather’s mother dropped off the face of the planet just after the funeral, moved her family to a town on the other side of the county. Stiles didn’t see or hear much from Heather throughout most of middle and high school until the night she turned seventeen. She’d led him into the basement of her parent’s house, kissed him without a lick of passion behind it, and asked if he wanted to take her virginity. She always seemed to forget Stiles was a werewolf: he heard the conversation she’d had with her friend before he and Scott had walked through the front door. Stiles declined, saved Scott from some nasty wolfsbane spiked wine, and driven them out to the Preserve. By then Derek was back in Beacon Hills, but even growly as he was, he wouldn’t have approached another alpha so close to a full moon.

Truth be told, Stiles’ wolf had _hated_ Derek in the beginning. It had become so accustomed to Scott being its alpha that the idea of a new alpha anywhere in the vicinity was enough to make the hair on the back of Stiles’ neck stand. It didn’t help that Stiles was a sarcastic shit on a good day and he never backed down from a confrontation. While most omegas would, especially to an alpha with as much notoriety as a Hale, Stiles found himself partially shifting whenever he was near Derek, whether it was his eyes or his claws or his canines. Scott thought it was amusing and endearing that Stiles was that loyal to their tiny pack and Stiles bit his hand in retaliation.

His heats came the year before Derek returned, when he was fourteen. The first time it hit, Stiles thought he was dying. Between his father managing to get him into the heat room they built a month after he and Scott presented and the door permanently opening five days later, he’s pretty sure he _did_ die there a few times. He’d howled and scratched the door, begging his father to let him out, begging for someone to make it stop.

He’d howled for Lydia despite them not being friends. He’d whined as he rutted against the sheets, skin burning no matter how many times he came, only lucid long enough for his father to get him into the adjoining bathroom to cool him down and get him somewhat clean in the shower before the next flare hit. On the fifth day, as the last of the fever burned its way through his veins, the Sheriff got him to eat his first full meal since the heat began. Stiles scarfed it down before the last swell of hormones pushed his body to the brink.

It could have gone worse. Stiles could have broken through the door or the walls, tracked Lydia down since at the time he was convinced he loved her. Scott could have shown up and been triggered into joining him because omega pheromones are _very powerful_ things. The Sheriff could have not handled it as well as he did and let Stiles writhe around in his own slick and spunk because seeing his son reduced to such a primal state was something not all humans could take.

They were prepared the next time his heat hit, two weeks before Thanksgiving. Stiles clawed at the walls for Lydia, for an alpha, for someone to fill him up and make him whole. This time Melissa was the one to help him through the necessities because the Sheriff couldn’t take the time off so close to a holiday. Stiles asked that they never speak about it again the day after that heat ended and Melissa smiled, pushed him toward the kitchen, and said she’d tell him all the embarrassing things Scott cried for if it would make him feel better.

It did but Scott doesn’t know that.

After that - and after witnessing the strain it put his father through to literally _lock_ his child in a cell for five days straight - Stiles asked for permission to see a doctor and be put in suppressants until he was old enough to find a heat partner. John asked Melissa for advice; Scott was placed on suppressants after his first heat in December. With little more than a routine checkup, Stiles’ doctor prescribed him two types of drugs and that was that.

He still had mild heats four times a year, still spent the worst days in the heat room. He still cried for Lydia because she and Jackson had a falling out at the beginning of sophomore year. They had been spending more time together because she’d attached herself to Allison the moment the huntress moved to Beacon Hills and Scott had awkwardly been working his way up towards asking the brunette out.

Derek moved back to Beacon Hills that December, a couple of weeks prior to the winter formal. Between then and the dance, he picked up Isaac, Erica, and Boyd, the foundations of his new pack, before pursing Scott. The brothers didn’t worry too much about Derek then, despite the fact Stiles’ wolf wanted to lash out. January came and Stiles attended the formal with Lydia on his arm, elated because he’d finally gotten his wish, only to be crushed when she pulled away from him during a slow song and said she wanted to find Jackson.

His February heat struck a couple of days earlier than it normally did and because he was distracted and heartbroken, Stiles forgot to take his medication. The Sheriff resorted to placing him in the heat room, taking off two days before Melissa forced him away and took over. It was the last heat he’d begged for Lydia and the first time he’d told Melissa he missed his mother, that he wanted her back, that she could have helped him, that she would have _understood_.

Shit got real for about a month and half after that, some power tripping group of alphas showing up and declaring they be allowed some portion of the Hales' property because Derek’s mother Talia had taken it from them decades ago. The packs, both Derek’s and Scott’s, coalesced, unified in their cause. Jackson managed to convince Derek to give him the bite during the process and they added another beta to their ranks.

At their first real pack meeting, the last week in March, Jackson criticized Scott for having an _omega_ as his second in command. Before Stiles could even rebut the comment, Derek punched Jackson square in the jaw, roaring as his beta cowered on the floor of the loft. ‘ _You’d be so lucky as to_ ever _find an omega who’d want you, Jackson. Now apologize to Stiles,_ ’ Derek had said, eyes burning scarlet. And Stiles? Stiles had stood there, mouth agape as his wolf chuffed in his head.

It stopped snarling after that, became tolerant to Derek’s presence in Stiles’ life. On his birthday, it mumbled, almost inaudibly, _the alpha’s giving us a gift, the alpha’s_ providing _for us_. _The alpha could be our mate_. Stiles’ wolf never, not once, called Lydia mate potential; Stiles had, in passing, but never his wolf.

When his May heat came, this one suppressed, he didn’t beg for anyone. Instead he bit his lip raw during the worst flare, thinking of Derek and what it would be like to be _knotted_ by an alpha. His wolf pranced and yipped, singing Derek’s name in Stiles’ head as he fucked into his fist, three fingers covered in his own slick and pushed as deep into his body as they could go. 

Derek disappeared come July, when his own heat struck, and Stiles’ wolf whined, wanting to know why the alpha didn’t want an omega to ride it out with. 

\- - -

Somewhere during the passing of the pack’s junior year, Stiles and Derek became friends, granted they bickered and picked at one another like an actual couple. Stiles’ wolf warmed up to the idea of letting Derek be the alpha to spend heats with and Stiles warmed up the idea that he might be a little bit in love of the man who knew when to put his betas in their place but also when to let a banshee - read _queen_ \- have her way.

Their slip up came and went, the conversation they had just after something Stiles mulled over until his eighteenth birthday. Come his May heat, Stiles had cancelled his heat suppressant medication, switched to preventative shots, and done far more research on knotting than any other omega he knew.

Throughout college, Derek was a welcome comfort compared to rush of Palo Alto. All werewolves were allowed time off for their heats as part of a mandate that had gone into effect in the seventies and omegas were no exception despite the criticism some still received. He got two weeks a semester which was better than the four days Scott got in December. 

By the time Stiles graduated, his wolf had started referring to _Derek_ as its alpha instead of Scott. Stiles hadn’t dated anyone in a couple of years and thought that was the reason. He spent Derek’s July heat more or less in Derek’s bed, leaving temporary claiming bites on the alpha’s neck as his wolf threw around the word mate.

Scott and Allison got engaged that fall, aiming for a summer wedding. In the encompassing months they planned, as a pack, a wedding fit for a princess. Erica and Lydia were to be bridesmaids, Isaac, Derek, and Boyd groomsmen, and Stiles the best man. But before the ceremony, another had to take place: a claiming ceremony.

Mate ceremonies are old practices, dating back centuries, and over time they have been updated to fit the standards of society. The one Scott and Allison held followed an outline the Hales had scribed down in a book Derek managed to salvage after the fire.

Stiles remembers how beautiful it had been, how intimate, just the pack, Allison’s parents and Melissa, and Deaton, who presided. They were only present up until the time Allison and Scott actually placed their claiming bites on one another. When Stiles left, it was hand in hand with Derek.

Allison has never been shy about where her mark is like some humans are and willingly displayed it on her wedding day. It’s located on her left shoulder, just to the right of where her arm meets her back. She’s added to the scar since then, a black bow and arrow tattoo beneath it.

Scott’s is a little harder to notice but obvious once you get to know him. He’s always been very proud of his pack and even more proud that he’d ever been able to convince Allison to marry him despite her family’s background, so her mating mark is in the one place to unify them both: on the inside on his left arm in the break between his banded tattoos.

It’s a personal choice mates make, where to place claiming bites. There’s no standard or protocol, it’s just up to the people becoming mated. Erica and Boyd both have theirs beneath their left ribs. Melissa’s, despite its insignificance, is on the inside of her left wrist. Danny and his boyfriend are both human, but he once said that if he were to exchange a mating bite with a were, he’d want it somewhere random like the back of his calf.

Sometimes Stiles allows himself to drift and think about where he’ll place his own if Derek allows him to.

\- - -

Tonight is one of those instances. It’s just past ten the day after September’s Harvest moon. Last month was the night he brought up the idea of becoming mates to Derek. Today he’s knocking back a bottle of spiked white wine as Alan rolls around the apartment and _Return of the Jedi_ plays on the television.

Stiles falls asleep to Leia meeting the Ewoks, warm and fuzzy with liquor as the bear creatures _yap yap_ at the princess. He wakes up sometime later to the television being turned off, blood still laden with wolfsbane. Somewhere close Alan squeaks quietly, his cage door being closed. Stiles wakes up enough to recognize Derek’s red eyes penetrating the dark.

“I thought you had a nightshift,” he slurs, reflexively looping his arms around Derek’s neck as the alpha picks him up.

“I did. It’s five thirty and you have to go to work in three hours.”

Derek places him down in bed, helping Stiles undress. “’ll call in sick.”

“No you won’t, lie down. I’m going to shower.”

Stiles smiles drowsily, eyelids heavy as he buries his face into the pillow. He drifts off only to be woken up again as Derek slides into bed behind him, smelling of sandalwood and pine. As he throws an arm over Stiles’ waist, Stiles brings his hand towards his face. He places his teeth against the inside of Derek’s right wrist, applies a light amount of pressure, and giggles to himself before nodding back off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know why I make Jackson an asshole in my fics these days. I _like_ Jackson. I miss Jackson. I am sad.
> 
> Hopefully tomorrow won’t kill me and I can actually accomplish some writing this week.
> 
> Until then.


	5. catch up with the other kids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks isn't so bad, right?

It’s the dead hour between lunch and the end of the day and Stiles couldn’t be more over it. He’s had his hands full since getting in this morning trying to handle an associate’s fuck up of a sales pitch to an insurance company down the street and his boss keeps looming over him every twenty minutes. Said associate is off doing god knows what with the owner of the insurance company.

Stiles is broken from his thoughts when the phone starts ringing, the noise hurting his ears.

“Stilinski,” he says automatically, tucking the phone to his shoulder as he walks around the desk. In the hallway his boss shoots him a look and Stiles shrugs before closing the door. “Hello?”

The silence continues until there’s a sigh. Lydia, then.

“You sound exactly like your father when you do that,” she says.

“Well, we do share the same last name.”

“Someone’s in a bad mood.”

Stiles frowns, slumping back down in his chair. Or at least, he attempts to. Derek made him splurge on a nice chair with great back support when he finally got his own office.

“It’s three o’clock and I’m here until six so yeah, I’m in a bad mood.” Stiles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Why did you call me on my work phone?”

“Because you weren’t answering your cell.”

Lydia smacks her lips over the speaker as Stiles pulls his cellphone out of a desk drawer.

“Jesus, Lyds, what happened?” There are five missed calls from her in the past half hour.

“I told him.” 

Stiles waits for an explanation, biting his lip. “Told who what?”

The banshee sighs again, voice cracking as she says “Jackson. I told Jackson.”

“It’s been a month.”

Lydia hums and repeats his words. “It’s been a month.”

Stiles’ boss knocks on the window of his door, points at his watch before walking away.

“What did he say?”

“That I’m selfish.” Jackson is a _douche_. “And that I should have told him the moment I found out.”

Stiles leans back in his chair, twirling the phone cord around his finger. “Is he going to come back?”

“He better fucking not. I don’t want him here.”

“Lydia.”

“I’m allowed to seethe, sweetheart.”

“And Jackson?”

“Won’t be returning to Beacon Hills. If he so much as steps back into the state of California, Derek will kill him.” 

Stiles grins at her amused tone. “You told him that?”

“No, your boyfriend did,” Lydia laughs over the line. “Say hello, Derek.”

“Stiles,” comes over the speaker. “You forgot to take the trash out this morning.”

“It’s your house, Hale, why am I responsible for taking the trash out?”

“Because the trash people only come once a week and I live in the middle of the fucking Preserve?”

“We’re all in bad moods, huh,” Stiles retorts. Lydia laughs lightly. “Where are you guys?”

“Staking out a location with the utmost importance due to people that venture here.”

Stiles chuckles, scribbling down an assortment of numbers on a pad of post-its. Five to one, Derek’s stuck at the grocery store, making sure no one steals anything. It’s the place the Sheriff always sends his deputies when they screw something up and Derek is still paying for the mishap with Parrish last month. Granted, Parrish spent a week there too.

That was a lovely week. Stiles found his old Jumanji game board, gathered the plastic moveable pieces, and superglued them to the four corners of the deputy’s desk. Isaac snorted so hard he started coughing while Derek rolled his eyes as if to say ‘ _how did I end up with you?_ ’ Parrish had to knock them off with a hammer.

“Anything exciting happening?” Stiles asks, grinning to himself as he imagines Derek sitting in his cruiser, trying not to brain himself.

“What do you think?”

“You never know. Having a banshee in your front seat is probably intimidating the public into behaving.” Something ruffles over the speaker and Derek sighs. “Why are _you_ there, Lydia? Not that you can’t hang out with the love of my life, but the last time I checked Ally was your go to person.”

“She had to take Sophia to the doctor today and no offense, Stiles, but the only person Jackson is afraid of other than Allison is Derek.”

If Scott was here, he’d be feigning shock only to follow it with ‘ _oooh, burn_ ’. Instead, Stiles’ boss is opening the door without knocking. He fixes his employee with a glare, tapping his foot while he waits for Stiles’ full attention.

“Stilinski.”

“Sir,” Stiles grits out.

“You have fifteen minutes until Rivera gets back with Thompkins. Have that pitch ready to go in ten or I’m kicking you off this project.”

The man pulls the door closed and Stiles lets his eyes burn amber out of spite. He didn’t want on the project to begin with, did he forget that? There are noises from the phone and Stiles presses it back to his ear.

“You catch all that?”

“Yes,” Derek replies.

“We’ll let you go.”

“Lydia, you are I are having dinner tonight, not buts. Derek, I am coming to your place after and if you so much as give me shit about the trash, I will scratch your precious Camaro.”

Derek chuckles and Stiles can only imagine the self-satisfied smirk he must be wearing. He hears Lydia mumble “jesus christ, keep the foreplay to yourselves,” before he hangs up. With a deep exhale, he reigns in his wolf’s desire to go howl at his boss.

Half an hour later, Thompkins is all smiles, thanking _Rivera_ for his hard work as they stand in the lobby. The man offers Stiles an obligatory handshake before turning on his heel, a proposal under his arm with Stiles’ pitch for the insurance company paper-clipped to the front. When Stiles turns around to berate his coworker, the guy has already disappeared.

One of the elevators, the one Rivera is most likely hiding in, is climbing the floors as Stiles waits for the other. When it arrives he steps inside, pressing the _3_ instead of _4_ , jabbing at the close door button immediately after. The ride is short and Stiles stalks out of the elevator, pushing his way through the glass doors of the tech company that takes up most of this floor.

Danny is sitting at his desk, effortless in the way he’s balanced on top of the red ball that serves as his chair. He tried to get Stiles to use it one time and Stiles rolled himself into the wall before falling off. He smiles, dimples and all, when Stiles drops into the chair on the other side of the desk.

“Stiles,” he greets, turning away from his computer.

“Dude, today sucks.”

“Why’s that?”

Stiles waves a hand in the air to signify everything. Danny is used to him coming down here at least once a week to complain about something or other, has made an art out of deciphering Stiles’ many variations of the dismissive hand flick.

“Have you talked to Jackson today?” Stiles asks, watching his friend’s face harden.

“Shit,” he says, dimples gone. “Lydia?”

“Lydia. She told him and let’s just say he didn’t handle it well. I’ll never understand how that douchebag scored you as his bestie but you should probably call him to make sure he doesn’t make any irrational decisions to move back here. Lydia will raise hell if that happens.”

“Don’t think I missed that douchebag comment, Stilinski.” Danny runs a hand across his throat, checking his watch. “I’ll take the rest of the day off and call him on the way home.”

“Sounds like a plan. Lydia and I are having dinner tonight and I’d like to tell her she doesn’t have to worry about her ex coming here.” Danny rolls his eyes and Stiles pats the back of his hand. “I’ll leave you to it, Danny boy. Text me later.”

\- - -

Danny, the miracle worker that he is, convinces Jackson to not uproot his life - a life that he actually enjoys living - to move back to Beacon Hills. It puts Lydia at enough ease that she stops incessantly checking her phone every few minutes for an update. Four days later, she’s calmed down enough to start planning her (and baby Martin’s) life without Jackson. Her first declaration is that Stiles is going to be her Lamaze partner.

Derek laughs at him for a full ten minutes because when Allison was pregnant, Stiles also got stuck attending her Lamaze classes when Scott couldn’t get away from the animal clinic. By the time Allison was pushing eight months along, the instructor was under the assumption that she, Scott, and Stiles were in a polyamorous relationship. Allison was very proud of this fact while Scott was not.

Stiles tackles Derek off the couch and onto the floor, eyes glowing out of frustration. The alpha takes the shift as a non-verbal cue, one they have perfected over the course of their relationship, and reverses their positions. Stiles doesn’t complain, not when he’s got a mouthful of couch cushion between his teeth and Derek’s dick in his ass. It’s not ideal because he’ll have to scrub the floor with wood cleaner that smells too much like lacquer and lemon, but so be it. Like he’d ever say no to Derek fucking him so hard he sees _stars_.

Tuesday comes and Stiles thanks whatever higher powers there are that his dad insisted he come over for dinner. Even though Derek is on the night shift for the next three days and Stiles will be lucky if he sees him during that time, those shifts will give the Sheriff a couple nights off. Besides, Isaac will be there to keep his alpha company should Parrish try to start anything.

Stiles pulls the Jeep up the curb, shifting the gear stick into neutral and pulling the emergency brake. Roscoe makes a pathetic noise, engine ticking after Stiles pulls the keys from the ignition. One day soon, his baby is going to kick it.

There’s something comforting about being in his childhood home, despite the fact it’s changed a lot in the past few years. When his dad and Melissa got married, they agreed to move into the Stilinski household rather than the McCall’s. At the time Scott wasn’t really worried about losing his home, was more than thrilled that his mother and the Sheriff had _finally_ gotten their act together after years of he and Stiles dropping hints. Technically the McCall house still belongs to Melissa, but Isaac and his two misfit Great Danes are the only ones living there.

Stiles walks in through the open garage, wipes his feet on the welcome mat that’s nearing ten years old. The door’s unlocked like it always is and Stiles smiles over the fact that even the Sheriff doesn’t follow every rule of safe home ownership. The scent of salmon hits his nose the moment he walks inside, eyes flaring briefly. He can’t help it; he _loves_ salmon.

(Claudia loved salmon, used to strong arm John into eating it once every other week. Even as she grew weaker with illness, she still insisted on it, making sure her husband tried to eat healthy so he’d always be there for their son. Stiles’ habit of switching out fries for vegetables and beef for soy is a result of that, one he’s never going to be apologetic for.)

There doesn’t seem to be anyone around when Stiles walks into the kitchen, perusing right up to the oven. He flicks the light on, mouth watering. Behind him someone coughs.

“It still has ten more minutes so don’t you dare think about stealing a bite.”

Stiles turns around to find Melissa dressed in one of his father’s ugly sweaters and old scrub bottoms. It’s hard to believe that she’ll be turning forty seven this year, especially when she can still pull off a dress like the one she wore at her wedding. Melissa tsks at him, wrapping the sweater around her stomach.

“You are still the only human I know who can sneak up on me,” Stiles says, walking across the room to place a kiss on Melissa’s cheek. “Kudos.”

“Don’t tell your father, he’ll be jealous.”

“Please, Dad totally knows he’s a loud walker. Why do you think he likes having weres on the force? Learning to be silent is kind of imperative when you’re a predator.”

Melissa pats Stiles on the cheek before pinching the skin between her pointer finger and thumb. “You missed family breakfast last weekend.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You bet you are, Stiles. Allison and Scott brought Sophie with them expecting her godfather would be here.” Stiles frowns and Melissa lets go of his cheek, the skin already fading from blotchy red back to pale. “Now go set the table. Your father’s upstairs, so call him down when you’re done.”

“Yes, mom,” Stiles replies with a grin.

Melissa wrinkles her nose and points toward the dining room. The air around them still smells like salmon but there’s another scent mixed with it now, contentment coming off Melissa. Stiles doesn’t call her Mom all the time, just like Scott doesn’t exclusively call John Dad, but when he does, her smile could light up a room. He’s convinced that is where Scott developed his signature grin and puppy eyes because in the very, very few memories he has of Agent McCall smiling, not a single one of them could rival Melissa’s.

Stiles sets the plates and silverware in their places, listening to Melissa hum some vaguely familiar song. John comes walking into the room with his phone pressed to his ear, squeezing Stiles' shoulder. Stiles follows his father back into the kitchen, leaning against the fridge. He grins when he catches the voice of the person on the other side of the line.

“Call me if there are any problems, got it? Lahey should be there within the hour and Greenberg in two. Stay out of Parrish’s space. Go use my office if you have to; I do not want to have to send one of my best deputies to patrol the grocery store again.” John grimaces when Melissa pushes a bowl of salad into his hand, pointing back at the dining room. “Uh huh, I will. You too, son.”

There is something so casual about the way John uses that term that Stiles stops breathing. All his life he can remember his dad calling him that, can remember how he started calling Scott that around the time they started high school. He’s heard him call Derek _son_ on occasion before too, but this time something is different. Stiles’ wolf whines about mates and alphas.

“Stiles?”

“Huh?”

Melissa raises an eyebrow and tilts her head toward the dining room. “You planning on joining us or do you want to continue starting at the wall?”

“Food, please,” he replies, cheeks tinting pink as he scratches his neck in embarrassment. “Sorry.”

John is already sitting at the end of the table, across from Melissa, leaving Stiles at the head. He grins and points to the salmon like it’s a treat, despite the fact that he used to hate it when Claudia forced it on him; he stopped fighting it when she got sick.

“Derek wanted me to remind you that you committed yourself to bowling with Erica, Boyd, and Isaac tomorrow night. Something about not wanting to miss a league game?”

Stiles snickers, spooning wild rice onto his plate next to a heaping of streamed broccoli. He always forgets that Derek and his betas are in a bowling league, though it’s usually just the three of them. Derek fills in from time to time when they need a fourth player and Stiles somewhat remembers agreeing to go when they spoke on the phone last night.

Stiles hasn’t spent much time with them since Scott’s birthday, mostly due to their respective jobs but also because they know about Stiles wanting their alpha as a mate. He and Erica had a very serious talk about a couple days after the Labor Day fiasco that left him feeling awkward. She flat out told him that while she loved Stiles and loved Derek even more, that he should start preparing himself for the possibility that Derek will say no.

It’s the most honest any of the pack has been with him. Boyd is content not to get involved and Isaac has the tendency to agree with whatever Scott and Allison say. Lydia hasn’t brought the conversation up since their epic night of watching Jumanji (which the banshee failed to appreciate) and Danny won’t offer his opinion on a topic that he can’t relate to.

It’s become a null subject at the moment. Stiles’ November heat is a little under a month and half away now but the pack - and Derek for that matter - hasn't brought it up at pack meetings or during weekly outings to dinner. Stiles would be happy to forget the looming deadline if it weren’t for the fact he grows more and more anxious whenever Derek talks about planning something in the future, like whether Stiles would mind if he misses out on pack Christmas to go visit Laura in New York.

Dinner conversation flows easily, Melissa entertaining Stiles as she regales stories of all the silly things people came into the emergency room for this week. One would think with a good number of werewolves and other supernatural creatures in town, the hospital wouldn’t be so busy. But considering the number of times members of their own pack have landed themselves there, that belief is just a fallacy.

The Sheriff recalls the stupidest things he's had to send his deputies to check out, including a call a very confused six year old made because his parents were making weird noises from the garage while he was supposed to be napping. Stiles ends up with his face pressed to the table as he shakes with laughter because Greenberg was the one who responded. Poor, poor Greenberg.

After they’ve cleared the table, Stiles helps Melissa rinse the dishes and load the dishwasher. John retreats to the family room, dropping onto the couch and turning the television on. Stiles follows Melissa into the room, sitting down in the comfy recliner Scott bought their parents for their five year anniversary. Melissa plops down next to John, grinning as she tucks herself against his side. As much as Stiles will always miss his mother, it’s good to see his father so happy.

“So, Stiles, Derek tells me you two were thinking about becoming mates,” his dad says, eyes focused on the scrolling menu on the television.

The _fuck_. “He what?”

“Mates, son.”

“I-”

“Scott said you were the one who bought the idea to the table,” Melissa adds before throwing a hand up. “John, stop, we haven’t seen this episode.”

Scott _would_ say something. He is still very cautious of Stiles and Derek becoming mates, although Stiles knows it’s out of protection rather than dislike. Derek and Scott pass for brothers where it counts and Melissa moms Derek as much as she used to mom Stiles before she and Sheriff were married.

“Uh, yeah, I mean, we talked about it. Kind of? I don’t know, dad, it’s kind of complicated.”

“Why’s that?” The Sheriff frowns, handing Melissa the remote. “Is this about Kate Argent?”

Stiles grimaces, ringing a hand around his wrist. “A little? It’s just, it’s-. It’s complicated.”

“You love him and he loves you, kid, it can’t really be that complicated. And I want you to know that if someone had told me that when Hale asked for approval to be your heat partner, I never would have believed them. I thought you two were just going to screw around for a couple of months before you left for college.”

“Dad!”

Stiles’ face burns red as Melissa snickers into the sleeve of her sweater. The Sheriff sighs and scratches the skin behind his ear, eyes darting at the floor. There are some conversations that should never _ever_ be had between parents and children.

They sit quietly through half an hour of _About a Boy_ before Stiles decides to leave. Melissa shuffles him into the kitchen to load him up on leftovers, saying ‘ _oh_ ’ before rushing out of the room. When she returns it's with an envelope and she opens the fridge to pull a small cardboard box out. Stiles rearranges the containers in his hands and Melissa places the box and envelope on top.

“Take some of those to the station and make sure to give Isaac the card and box; it has a cupcake inside. I know we’re celebrating on Friday but I didn’t want him to think we forgot.” Stiles must make a face because Melissa starts shaking her head. “You forgot, didn't you? Come on, set those containers down. I think I have a spare card in the office.”

She does. Stiles scribbles out _Happy Birthday Isaac!!!_ in big blocky letters, adding a heart and his signature at the bottom. While he seals the envelope, Melissa finds a paper bag with handles for all the food. The Sheriff joins them in the kitchen, shaking his head as well when he notices Stiles tucking the envelope into his jacket.

“You have a calendar on your phone for a reason, kid.” John ruffles Stiles’ hair, grinning as his son attempts to dodge it. “Tell my deputies to behave.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for dinner, Mel. It was delicious as always.” Stiles takes the leftovers from her and gets a kiss on his cheek. “I guess I’ll see you guys Friday.”

“Make sure Isaac knows who bought that cupcake, Stiles. Now get,” Melissa replies, pointing towards the front door.

Stiles hugs his father and leaves, gently setting the leftovers on the front seat before starting the Jeep. Roscoe roars to life, shaking a little from the cold. Stiles is thankful for the wolf in his blood keeping him warm as he drives to the station; the heating unit crapped out last winter and he has yet to commit to that investment.

Tara waves him back to the main office when he walks in with the leftovers and Stiles grins at her, pushing the door open with his shoulder. Both Derek and Isaac’s desks are vacated but Parrish is sitting at his own, huddled over a stack of paperwork. Stiles tries to creep past him without being noticed, almost makes it to the other side of the room, but Parrish coughs.

“They’re out back cleaning their cruisers,” he says, not looking up from his desk.

Stiles turns on the ball of one foot towards the deputy. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Parrish doesn’t say another word; normally he either hits on Stiles or finds something to banter about. Stiles raises an eyebrow but heads towards the garage regardless. The first thing he sees is Isaac is grinning at him, eyes lit as Stiles weaves around the cars. Derek is sitting on the hood of the Crown Vic next to Isaac, arms folded across his chest and pulling his shirt tight in all the right places.

Derek will never _not_ look disgustingly attractive in uniform.

“Happy birthday, Is,” Stiles greets. “Melissa sent me here with gifts.”

“I knew I smelled cake,” the beta says, motioning for the bag of food. “Dinner too?”

“Yeah, for both of you, so share. And here,” Stiles pulls the last minute birthday card from his jacket, “this is from me.”

“Thanks! Derek, you want any of this?” Isaac asks, holding a container of rice and salmon up.

“Sure.”

“'Kay. Stiles, don’t touch my cupcake.”

Stiles feigns a frown, setting the bag down next to Derek’s cruiser. “I wasn’t going to.” Isaac grins and walks back into the station with two containers of food, leaving Stiles and Derek in the garage. The alpha pulls Stiles between his legs by his belt loops, looking up at him from where he’s sat on the hood of the cruiser. Stiles glances around briefly before leaning down for a kiss, brushing his lips against Derek’s.

“You totally forgot about Isaac’s birthday, didn’t you?” Derek asks as Stiles busies himself with straightening Derek’s collar.

“No.” If he really wanted to, Stiles could control his pulse into not blipping with the lie. He doesn’t though and Derek rolls his eyes. “’Sides, it’s not like you reminded me.”

“Am I your assistant now?”

“If you were I would fire you.” Stiles nips at Derek’s mouth, ignoring the huff the alpha emits. “By the way, did you say something to my dad about that thing we aren’t talking about?”

“Do you really want to know if we're not talking about it?” Derek tightens his grip on Stiles’ hips, pressing his nose against Stiles’ neck.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Things. Now kiss me before Isaac comes back and complains about catching us making out again.”

Derek does, pulls Stiles flush against the car and his chest, cradling his neck with one hand as the other squeezes his ass. Stiles snickers against the alpha’s lips, mussing his shirt and hair before Isaac comes back into the garage. The beta chuffs and shoves a container of warmed food between Stiles and his alpha.

“It’s my birthday, I don’t deserve this,” he says.

Stiles beams at Isaac for a moment before turning towards Derek. The man is grinning at him in return, skin around his eyes crinkled. It makes Stiles’ heart flutter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I'm using the 2014 calendar and this chapter ends on September 22, Isaac's birthday. The whole story started on August 10th.
> 
> In all honesty, this isn't my favorite chapter. But we're progressing timeline wise! That's always good.


	6. even falling far behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This hiatus has done me good considering the amount of writing I've managed to accomplish.

October’s full moon falls on a Wednesday. In addition to being smack dab in the middle of the week, it’s also one of the four times of the year there’s a lunar eclipse. If that wasn’t enough, it’s another Blood Moon.

Stiles’ only saving grace is that the moon bleeds red at 6:25 in the morning. But Derek being Derek and “the pack taking humanity for granted”, Stiles is awake, nursing a cup of strong coffee. If he had his way he’d still be asleep and ignorant to the way he feels when he’s entirely human. Really, he doesn’t know how his dad does it. Or Allison. Or Danny. Or Lydia.

Well, usually Lydia. Being a banshee has never given her any physical bonuses other than slightly enhanced hearing. Even her banshee powers have been subdued as of late. The last time she heard voices in her head and screamed was the day the CEO of the accounting firm she works at didn’t show up for a board meeting. And that, Stiles believes, was well over a year ago.

“Do we really have to do this?”

“My mother always-”

“Told you it was a good learning experience. I know, Derek, you tell me this every lunar eclipse. But you’re almost twice the age you were the last time someone told you that.”

Derek flicks him off and steps out onto the back porch of his home. Stiles realizes what he’s implied, flinching as the screen door snaps against the frame. He sets the coffee on the counter before slinking down, heels landing hard against the hardwood.

Stiles hates the way his body feels during lunar eclipses, always has. His mother use to let him sleep through them if possible in fear her son would injure himself and not be able to heal without the aid of werewolf healing factor. When Stiles was six he managed to break his arm while he and Scott were running around in the backyard. All Claudia could do was shush him as he cried, counting the minutes until the moon returned.

With a sigh, Stiles steps through the screen door and pads across the porch barefoot. He shivers as he sinks down onto the step next to Derek, wrapping the blanket he procured from the family room tighter around his shoulders. That’s the other thing he hates about lunar eclipses: he can never seem to get warm. Derek must notice because he hauls Stiles across the stair until they’re pressed together.

“You know I didn’t mean to bring up the fire,” Stiles says, dipping his head to tuck it underneath Derek’s chin. “I know how sensitive you are during lunar eclipses.”

“Was that supposed to be an apology?” Derek asks, craning his neck as Stiles nuzzles against his beard.

“I’m sorry, Derek. I mean it. I’m just so sleepy and I haven’t had enough caffeine to function this early in the morning. My brain to mouth filter only works sixty percent of the time anyways but apparently it approved of the ‘bring up pyromaniac murders’ route.”

“Please stop talking.”

Stiles sighs, arms wrapping around Derek’s torso. Derek rubs his hand up and down Stiles’ side, fingers dragging against the fabric of his shirt. Above the moon begins to bleed red, casting a dim scarlet tint over the grass that comprises Derek’s backyard. Beyond the treeline, the Preserve is eerily silent aside from the rustle of branches.

“How much longer do we have?” Stiles asks, eyelids closed.

“Hour and a half.”

“Hmm.”

He places a kiss above Derek’s jugular, wishing he could hear his heartbeat, wishing he could discern the emotions in the alpha’s scent. His wolf is silent, as it always is during these eclipses, but Stiles thinks it would be whining, telling him to roll over and bare his belly, show its _alpha_ submission if it would make him feel better.

“You’re shaking,” Derek says, tightening his grip on Stiles’ waist. “We should go inside.”

Stiles hums and bites the patch of skin he kissed between his teeth. Derek gasps and tilts his head to offer more access as Stiles licks his mark. He may not be able to enjoy how Derek’s eyes should be illuminated red but he can enjoy _this_ , his mark not fading. He does it again and again, until the hickey is maroon and painful looking and Derek’s fingers are digging hard enough into his ribs that Stiles probably has his own bruises.

“I thought you said you hadn’t had enough caffeine to function this early,” Derek sighs as Stiles presses him back against the porch. It must be cold against his bare shoulders and thin tank top but nothing about the alpha’s demeanor indicates it. “Stiles?”

“Babe, I could never be so tired as to not want to do dirty things to you.”

“What a charmer.” Derek sucks in a breath as Stiles swings his leg over his thighs, grinding his hips down. “Shit.”

“Wanna keep complaining?” Stiles asks, dropping his head back down to Derek’s neck, biting his mark. “You’re so sensitive when we’re like this.”

“We’re human,” Derek replies as Stiles trails kisses down to the collar of the tank top, fingers slipping beneath the hem.

Stiles chuckles, rucking the shirt up. “After all.”

This, _this_ is the only thing that Stiles likes about lunar eclipses: watching as Derek unravels with the slightest touch. It’s true that they are more sensitive to things in this state, more susceptible to physical touches. As wolves, they rely heavily on scent and vision, but as humans it all comes down to the most minute changes in force, whether it’s a kiss or simply gliding their fingertips slow enough across skin to create a wake of goosebumps.

That’s what Stiles is doing now, although to goosebumps arising on Derek’s toned stomach may be due to the cold more than the path Stiles dragged his tongue. He dips it into Derek’s navel, snickering as Derek shudders beneath him. His hands find Stiles’ hair, gripping it tightly as Stiles nibbles his way down Derek’s happy trail.

Last lunar eclipse, Stiles took Derek apart piece by piece until the alpha was so far gone that Stiles began to feel a bit bad about it. He rimmed Derek for a good half an hour, fingering him until he came all over his stomach, tears dripping from the corner of his eyes. And despite their instincts to scent mark and stake claims, Stiles licked him clean, lapping up every last drop of Derek’s come.

He milked one more orgasm out of Derek before ever fucking him and by then has so hard he was on the brink of coming after the first thrust. Derek wouldn’t have it though, wanted to feel every last tremble of Stiles’ arms, pressed against the pillow and bracketed around his head. Somewhere in the ensuing minutes - four to be exact - the moon shifted out of the earth’s shadow and the rush of returning to a werewolf sent Stiles over the edge. All it took was two jerks of his hand to send Derek over as well.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek croaks, fingers yanking Stiles’ mouth away from the row of bruises he’s bitten into the groove of Derek’s hips.

“Yeah?” Stiles asks, licking his lips. They’re already puffy, despite the fact he hasn’t kissed Derek in at least the past ten minutes. He bites them, smirking at the way Derek’s eyes flit down.

“Do you really want to do this here?” he asks, dragging his thumb across Stiles’ mouth; Stiles debates sucking the digit into his mouth. “Outside?”

“Well,” he replies, “this _is_ private property.”

That shakes Derek from his concentration and he lets himself fall back against the porch with a groan. “You are going to be the death of me.”

“No!” Stiles yelps, rubbing his face against the plane of Derek’s abdomen. “Who will keep me warm during lunar eclipses? Speaking of, how are you _not_ cold right now? I have a blanket and I’m still freezing.”

Derek waves a hand in Stiles’ direction. With a sigh, he lifts himself up, using his elbows as support. He turns his left wrist over, glancing at his watch. Stiles presses against Derek’s hand as it curls around his neck, easing him up the alpha’s chest.

“We’ve got an hour left of the eclipse and about fifty minutes until we need to start getting ready for work,” Derek asks against Stiles’ lips, pressing chaste kisses to the plump skin. “What do you want to do?”

“Hmm,” Stiles contemplates, sitting back on his heels before standing. He holds a hand out to Derek to pull him to his feet. “Let’s go inside. I wanna see if you can still hold me up and fuck me against the wall.”

At least he has the decency to flush pink. Derek rolls his eyes, barely lit by the abnormal moonlight, and hangs his head. Still, he allows Stiles to tug him inside, flick on the light in the hallway, and kiss him until there are no more reasons to resist.

\- - -

The rest of the morning trudges by slowly. Stiles makes it through the morning only with the aid of more coffee and Pandora cranked as loud as he can manage without disturbing the people in the offices next to him. An hour before lunch Isaac sends him a text message to be at his house around eight for dinner. Stiles sends back a lengthy reply that is more complaints about how much he hates lunar eclipses than agreement to attend. The beta sends him a short reply during lunch apologizing and attaches a photo of his dogs, the two beasts curled up in the middle of a bed Erica made for them.

Over the next few hours Stiles receives texts from other various members of the pack, asking if he and Derek are going to Isaac’s after work. He’s not sure when he became in charge of Derek’s plans but he’s too sleepy to be bothered by it so he replies yes. The only reason Derek wouldn’t want to spend a full moon with the pack is if he wanted to run the Preserve. He still might for all Stiles knows.

They used to run every full moon, all the werewolves shifting as much as they could. Of the lot of them only Derek and Scott can completely shift down to wolves, while he and the betas have only ever been able to reach partial shifts. But between Sophia being born, Jackson leaving, and Isaac joining the force, there always seem to be limitations.

Stiles checks out of work an hour early, telling himself he’ll make it up during the weekend. Alan is running in his wheel when Stiles walks through the door, pausing to look at his owner before taking off again. Stiles pushes a couple of berry flavored yogurt treats through the metal grating of his cage, smiling as Alan abandons the wheel.

The clock on the wall flashes blue to indicate it’s five as Stiles walks by, pulling his tie free of the knot. By the time he’s reached his bedroom, he’s only in his socks, undershirt, and boxers. He creates an alarm on his phone for seven, setting it down on the nightstand. It buzzes as he locks the screen and crawls under the covers on the wrong side of the bed.

The pillow reeks of Derek and Stiles chuckles to himself, pressing his face into the cotton pillowcase.

He ends up sleeping through the alarm only to be woken up as his phone frantically vibrates and ‘ _Everlasting Light_ ’, Derek’s current ringtone, starts wailing. Stiles ignores the call without looking at the time, regretting it when his phone goes off again a few moments later. He wakes up quickly then as his wolf yips nonsense about wanting to see their alpha and their pack.

Dinner is already in full swing when he arrives, the pack sprawled out around Isaac’s home. It will always be weird to think of it as that and not Scott’s, but since graduating from USC, this place has been Isaac’s through and through. Araethyraea and Aoris, Isaac’s Great Danes, greet him at the door with toys in their mouths. The moment Stiles goes to pet Aoris on the head, the harlequin takes off, his sister following as he careens into a doorway.

Derek finds Stiles laughing, chiding him lightly before going in for a kiss. Stiles’ eyes glow amber for a moment, eyes flicking around the foyer. The betas are sitting in the dining room playing Scrabble, ignorant to their alpha. Stiles can hear Allison and Lydia in the family room, cooing as Sophie babbles. Somewhere upstairs Danny and Scott are chatting about something. Stiles apologizes for being late to the house at large and gets three ‘ _stop making out with your boyfriend_ ’s, two ‘ _Stiles! Come see your goddaughter_ ’s, and one ‘ _you owe me twenty bucks, man_ ’.

All in all he considers it a win.

The rest of the night progresses smoothly, like it always does. The pack hasn’t experienced a bad full moon since they were all in high school. Finding anchors has never been a problem for the wolves in their pack, though that might be a result of all of them being born werewolves rather than bitten. Jackson had had trouble the first couple of months but eventually got the hang of it around the same time he and Lydia got back together for the umpteenth time.

When Stiles leaves around midnight, it’s with another apology and a sleepy grin. He has blanket permission to spend the night - perks of being Isaac’s alpha’s boyfriend - but with work in the morning, Stiles opts to go home. Derek kisses him goodnight on the front step, asking that Stiles text him when he gets back to his apartment. Stiles calls him a worrywart dweeb but sends the text anyways, a simple ‘ _i’m home. love you._ ’

Things are easy for the next week or so. Stiles completes an advertising campaign for a new local coffee shop and in gratitude, the owner pays him not only a bonus on top of his commission, but gives him a five hundred dollar gift card as well. Lydia warns him against using it all too quickly but takes it back when he promises to treat her to hot green tea as soon as winter sets in.

Two weeks out from Halloween, Stiles is working from home when his computer pings at him. A small envelope pops up in the corner of the screen, the sender’s name and subject blinking before the box recedes. He glances at it briefly before opening Thunderbird to read the entire email. That’s when things change.

“Shit,” he curses, setting his pen down on a notepad covered mostly in doodles. “Shit shit shit shit _shit_.”

The email is from his apartment complex, warning him that his lease renewal is coming up in January. Normally Stiles wouldn’t worry about it; he loves his apartment and has been here for almost two years now. But with the mates thing still up in the air, Stiles isn’t sure what to do. The email states that he must let the office know by a minimum of sixty days prior to the day his lease runs out. And of course, that deadline falls one day before his November heat.

It’s not that he has to live with Derek if they become mates, but he knows he’ll want to. The mate bond will pull him there, like an itch he can’t scratch, until it becomes insistent and forceful. Even now, he gets urges to go to Derek’s, or to have Derek come to his apartment, if they haven’t seen each other in more than three days. Lydia once called it codependency despite the fact she and Jackson had just moved in together.

Plus, it’s not like he hasn’t thought of what living with Derek would be like. They spend nights at each other’s respective homes a majority of the time because it’s nice. Stiles has his own drawer and section of the closet at Derek’s, while Derek has a drawer, his own shelf in the shower’s built in corner shelving, and at least four coffee cups that only he uses at Stiles’. Even before they were together, back when it was just friendship and sharing heats, they offered sections of their homes up.

Crap.

Stiles closes the email along with Thunderbird, tries to return his focus to the list of clients he hasn’t heard back from since their initial consultations. He makes notes beside the first third of the people listed before biting his pen between his teeth hard enough he can feel it in his jaw. He reaches for his phone, unlocks the screen, and hits the phone icon twice so it dials the last person he spoke to.

“Please be on shift,” he says at the dial tone rings, “please don’t answer.”

“Hello?”

“Hey Der,” Stiles says, voice wavering.

“Hi?”

“Uh, hi. When does your shift end?”

A series of muffled noises come over the speaker and Stiles realizes Derek must be at the station. “Six. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Stiles bites his lip, imaging the way Derek must look right now. “Could you come over to my place when you leave?”

“Of course, but-”

“Good! Great. I’ll see you later Derek!”

“Stiles-”

“Love you!”

He is so fucking screwed. Derek’s going to get suspicious and by the time his shift ends, he’ll be restless and pissed off. The last time Stiles pulled a conversation like this on him was the day he asked Derek out on an actual first date. And while that worked out for the best, he has no idea how this is going to.

He was serious when he said he didn’t want to talk about their mates conversation until November. Aside from the weekend prior to Labor Day, Derek’s been respectful of that. Except for maybe mentioning it to the Sheriff. And telling Stiles that they’re going to have pups one day.

Stiles busies himself with completing his list, separating clients into divisions of how interested they were in his pitches. He calls his boss to check in and get the okay to start contacting people, which the man agrees to quickly before disconnecting. Between sending a few pre-drafted emails and calling two of the clients, six comes before Stiles realizes it.

He’s in the middle of the call with the owner of a frozen yogurt shop when the door to the apartment jiggles. Derek lets himself inside with the key Stiles gave him the week he moved in, waving. Stiles offers a quick smile and returns to transcribing the conversation onto his computer. There are noises from the family room and Stiles looks up to see Derek poking around Alan’s cage, petting the teddy bear hamster on the head.

“Of course, that will work great for me,” Stiles says, snapping his fingers to get Derek’s attention. “I’ll check with Charlie first thing tomorrow but I’m sure she’ll want to come along as well. You’ve got my number in case anything changes, correct? Okay, well I will see you then. Mm hmm, you too.”

Stiles lets his phone drop from where he’s had it pressed against his ear and shoulder, catching it before it bangs into the table. Derek steps into the kitchen, sans his belt of weapons, which Stiles assumes he must have left on the coat rack next to his jacket. He bends over to kiss the crown of Stiles’ head and sinks down in the chair across the table.

“Hey, sorry about that,” Stiles apologizes, saving the conversation to his hard drive. “How was work?”

“Fine. Wrote some speeding tickets. Isaac got sassed by an eighty year old woman who wanted to contest her illegal parking ticket. Greenberg rescued a puppy lost in the Preserve.” Derek sighs and leans over the table, bringing his hands together to rest under his chin. “Want to explain why you called me in a panic?”

“Uh, yeah. Hold on.” Stiles averts his eyes down to his laptop, pulling Thunderbird open again. He selects the email from his apartment complex and turns the laptop around so Derek can read it through. “Read that.”

Derek drags the computer across the table, righting it when it’s close enough he can read. Stiles nervously taps out the rhythm of some song he heard on the radio as he waits, shaking the tabletop as he does. When Derek’s finished reading the email his eyebrows are furrowed and he looks confused.

“So?” Stiles asks, scratching at his neck.

“So what? Why did I need to read that?”

“Did you see the part that says I need to give them an answer sixty days before my lease ends?”

“Yes? I don’t see the-”

“Derek, that’s the day before my heat,” he interrupts, glancing up from his messy pad of notes. “That’s, well, you know what.”

“Stiles,” and crapolla, that is definitely his deputy voice. “You said you didn’t want to talk about this.”

“I don’t but it’s kind of necessary seeing how it affects my life for the next year.” Stiles drops his hand from his neck to ring it around his wrist. “Look, I hate pressuring you into giving me an answer right now, but what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know, renew it if you want to.”

“Really? That’s it. No ‘don’t do it, you don’t need to’ or ‘you already know what my answer is going to be’?” Stiles snaps.

Derek shrugs noncommittally. “What do you want me to say?”

“What do you _think_?”

“I’m not giving you an answer. I don’t see why-”

“You don’t know,” Stiles says, thoughts beginning to blur, “do you?”

“Stiles-”

“That’s it, isn’t it? You have no idea if you want this, want _me_.”

“Stiles-”

“Oh my god, you _don’t_ , do you? You still don’t want to be my mate.”

Derek’s glaring now, eyes flickering between hazel and red out of frustration. Stiles is vaguely aware his own eyes are amber. His wolf is howling inside his head, begging him to stop antagonizing their alpha.

“I don’t know,” Derek finally admits, mouth in a harsh grimace.

And like that, all of Stiles’ fantasies fade away. All the dreams he built up for them in his head drift off. All the plans he foolishly let himself believe would happen are gone in that instant.

“You talked to _my dad_ about this. The day, the day after the barbeque you _told_ me to imagine what it’s going to be like when we have a pup. The night I asked you to consider this you said ‘mine’ and-"

“Because I love you!”

“You are so full of shit, Derek.”

“Jesus, you gave me _an ultimatum_ , Stiles! Do you know how screwed up that is? Demanding that I consider asking you to be my mate or that’s the end of us.” Derek _is_ pissed now, eyes scarlet and teeth bared. “I told you I didn’t want a mate, I’ve always told you I didn’t want one.”

“Why?”

“You goddamn know why,” Derek quips, eyes hard.

“Because of Kate? I’m not _her_ , Derek! I am never going to strap you down to a bed, bite you without your consent, and poison you so I can set your house on fire! When are you going to realize that?”

“I never said you were like her but I don’t think you realize how big of a deal this is! You’ve been content to ignore the fact _your_ deadline is coming up soon and now I’m paying the price. So no, I don’t have any input as to what you should do because _I don’t know_.”

There’s a heavy tension in the air as Derek’s eyebrows reach a new level of irritation. Stiles can feel his canines prick his lips and how his fingertips are tingling, on the verge of sprouting claws. Derek doesn’t back down as the minutes pass, nor does he make the situation worse. Stiles eventually curls his lips into a sneer, stands, and points at the door.

“Get out,” he commands, watching the frustration on the alpha’s face drop.

“What?”

“Get out,” he repeats, voice cracking. “ _Please_. I don’t want to fight with you, Derek, so please leave. Go spend time without me interfering, go figure out what you want without my influence.”

“I’m sorry-”

Stiles drops his hand, tightening it into a fist to stop the shaking. He can sense it, the impending panic attack, but is trying to hold it off because he _can’t_ , he can’t let Derek see how this is breaking him. He never should have demanded-

“Stiles?” Derek’s standing in front of him now, hands pressed ever so gently against his neck, tilting his head up. “Breathe.”

“I am. I’m fine. Just, go home. Make some decisions I have unfairly demanded of you.” Stiles watches a pained look flicker over Derek’s features. “Don’t do that, you’re right.”

“I love you,” Derek whispers as Stiles removes his hands.

“I know. Now go, I don’t want to see you until you figure out what you want to do.”

Derek kisses him so softly he can barely feel it, eyes squeezed shut. He focuses on his breathing, on calming his pulse as Derek moves around the apartment. He hears the swoosh of the deputy jacket rustling as it’s pulled on and the clip of the belt. The door creaks as it’s opened, held open for several seconds, and closed as Derek leaves.

Stiles sinks to the floor, crying. He blindly feels around for his phone on the table, tears falling from his cheeks onto the floor. It takes a few tries but he manages to pull Scott’s number up, dialing it. When it goes to voicemail, he hangs up without leaving a message and calls Allison.

The archer picks up on the fifth dial tone with a sleepy “Hullo?”

“Ally?”

“Hmm, what’s up Stiles?”

“Ally,” he croaks, “I fucked up.”

That gets her attention. “Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“Can you come over? Scott didn’t answer his phone and I _really_ don’t want to be by myself right now.”

“Where’s Der-” Allison starts, dropping her thought when Stiles doesn't answer. “Give me ten minutes. I’m bringing Soph with me.”

“Thank you.”

True to her word, Allison walks into the apartment ten minutes later, Sophie in her detachable car seat. Stiles pulls her into a hug and lets himself go, lets himself cry as she consoles him without asking any questions. Sophie starts whining after a few minutes and Allison picks her up. Stiles latches onto her too, comforted as she pats his face with her chubby little hands.

They migrate to the couch and Allison patiently waits for Stiles to explain what happened. Once he starts he can’t stop and everything, all of his concerns, all of his fears, everything back to when they were still in high school and his wolf said Derek could be its mate, comes tumbling out. He talks until he exhausts himself, falling asleep with Sophie across his chest. Sometime later he wakes up to his goddaughter being lifted away.

“You going to stay here tonight?” Allison asks.

“Yeah. I’ll see you in the morning before I go to the clinic.”

Scott must have arrived.

“Stiles?” the archer asks, crouching down next to the couch. “Scott’s here so I’m going to go home with Soph now. Come by the house after work tomorrow, alright?”

Stiles makes a soft noise and Allison kisses him on the forehead. She stands, takes her daughter from Scott, and offers one more goodbye before leaving. Scott rubs Stiles’ back, slipping a hand around his arm to pull him off the couch.

“Hey bud,” he greets. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“You really don’t have to stay here, Scott. I’m okay now. I promise.”

Scott just shakes his head and nudges him down the highway. “Suffice it to say by the way this place smells that you are definitely not okay. Now c’mon, go brush your teeth.”

“Yes, dad.”

Stiles does as told, changing into a different shirt and pants to sleep in. When he walks back into the bedroom, Scott has _The Colbert Report_ turned on. He’s sprawled across on the side of the bed Derek normally sleeps on which Stiles knows must be discomfiting. Still, Scott’s smiling at him.

“He still doesn’t know if he wants me as a mate,” Stiles eventually whispers into his pillow. He turned the television off ten minutes ago because Scott was already dozing. “I don’t know what to do, Scott. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Give 'im space,” his brother mumbles. "He loves you."

Stiles lays awake for what feels like another hour, staring at the clock on the nightstand. He replays the conversation with Derek over and over, gets stuck on the parts of what Derek said that were the harshest, but at the same time entirely justified. He wonders if Derek’s lying awake too, if his wolf is crying for Stiles like Stiles’ is crying for Derek. 

It’s still howling as Stiles finally falls from consciousness, pitiful wails that he hasn't heard in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed the following: a) I finally set a total chapter count; b) this chapter is much longer than chapters in the first half of this story have been; c) ultimatums are _bad things_ to demand from your partners; and d) we've taken a temporary turn into bad news bearsville. But don't fret, it'll get resolved, I promise. Just bear with me for another chapter. ~~I am so excited to work on what's coming up!~~
> 
> So, important things. The rest of the chapters are going to be longer in length like this chapter is because I have a lot of stuff to cover. Also, I know I've been updating about every two weeks, but I don't know whether that will continue with the next chapter. The first full week of May is going to be hellish for me so it may be three weeks before I can get the next chapter done. I apologize in advance for the delay.


	7. starlight in the middle of the ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's June.
> 
> What the hell.

The following weekend comes straight out of hell. Stiles spends both days with Allison and Scott, lounging around their house with Sophie. She grows fascinated with the stubble that begins to sprout on his chin Sunday morning, scratching it with her chubby hands until Stiles grows so uncomfortable he forces himself to shave. Scott keeps him company in the afternoon and together they entertain Sophia by partially shifting their facial features. Allison calls them idiots and kisses them both on their cheeks.

By Monday, Stiles is miserable. The work he does is less than stellar but it’s enough that the meetings he has go well and he doesn’t get yelled at by his boss. Danny spares him no caution during lunch however, throwing carrots at his face and calling him on his shit. It’s not that Danny is particularly fond of Derek - the only people Danny is particularly fond of are Lydia and Isaac, though the deputy is more of a fall back since Jackson left - but he’s their emissary. The entire point of an emissary is to keep the humanity of a werewolf pack whole and in order to do that, the wolves actually need to be cooperating with one another.

Stiles bares his teeth when one of the carrots hits his eye. He stomps on Danny’s foot in retaliation and gets a flick on the nose in return. Everybody may love Danny but a pissed off Hale emissary is not to be tested.

When he gets home that night he finds a note on the kitchen table from Allison stating that she left him a casserole dish of lasagna in the oven. Stiles sets the slip of paper down before opening the oven and putting his hand above the foil covering, testing the heat. He sets the temperature to 300 to warm the pasta up, smiling at the stove. He texts her a thank you before placing Alan in his ball, taking the cage with him to the bathroom to clean it out.

Between tossing the soiled bedding and scraping half eaten slivers of cucumber from the wall, Stiles checks his phone for a reply. In the midst of moving Alan and not paying attention to who the contact was, he realizes he accidentally sent the message to Derek, ‘ _have I told you I love you and you are the best?_ ’ stark on the screen. He mutters ‘ _fuck_ ’ and sets the phone screen down, slumping onto the edge of the tub. He focuses on counting his breaths as his heart pounds in his chest.

Ten minutes later his heart rate returns to normal. Stiles picks his phone up with shaky hands, unlocking the screen before returning to his text messages. He exits out of the conversation with Derek, scrolling down a few lines to try and open the one with Allison. He presses the screen thrice, until the message chain opens and he can type something.

Alan rolls down the hallway, a loud clunk sounding as he bangs into the linen closet. The air grows heavy with the scent of lasagna as Stiles hovers he fingers above the screen. It dims once before he taps the screen, sighing heavily. He returns to the thread with Derek, selects and forwards the message to Allison, the phone pulling up her thread. ‘ _I just sent that to Derek on accident, Ally. My phone did the thing again._ ’

Stiles washes out the cage in sink before toweling it dry. He adds several handfuls of new bedding to the cage, making sure to pack extra into the corner Alan likes to sleep in. The hamster is persnickety when it comes to his sleeping conditions.

Stiles’ phone buzzes on the kitchen counter as he places Alan’s cage back on the bookshelf in the main room of his apartment, metal grating jiggling against the plastic bottom. He walks back into the kitchen and removes the lasagna from the oven, setting it on the stove before peeling the aluminum foil up at one corner. He can’t avoid the flicker of his irises shifting; Allison is a damn good cook.

‘ _I told you, you need a new phone. It does the thing all the time. Last week you asked Scott if the morning sickness was getting worse and he freaked out so badly, I had to go buy a pregnancy test to assure him I wasn’t knocked up._ ’ Stiles snorts at Allison’s reply because Scott would spaz over the potential of another kid so soon. There is a soft thud in the distance and Alan’s ball goes quiet. Stiles focuses his hearing to make sure the hamster is alright before cutting a corner of the lasagna from the pan, placing it in a bowl, and making his way to the couch.

Stiles takes one bite of the pasta, moaning a little at the taste, and returns to his conversation with Derek. ‘ _I meant to send that to Allison._ ’ He sends the message before realizing how snarky it must come off, following it with ‘ _Not that I don’t love you! Ally made me dinner._ ’ Stiles sighs and sets the phone down to turn the television on, pulling Netflix up.

He flips through the shows in his queue, selecting _Breaking Bad_ and going to the first episode of the third season. As he’s about to press play, he remembers this is his and _Derek’s_ thing, rewatching the show. They’ve both seen it before, actively watched it together even before they were _together_ , sprawled on couches and bickering over whose life was more tragic, Skyler or Jesse. Stiles closes the episode list and switches to _The Family_.

Allison sends him another message a few minutes later and they end up texting each other for the remainder of dinner. Stiles sets his empty bowl in the sink when he’s done eating, rearranging the foil cover of the glass pan. He slips the pan into a free space in the fridge and sets off to locate Alan as Dianna Argon’s character makes an impressive display of seducing her student teacher.

Alan is asleep in his ball, wedged against the closet door and the bookshelf it rests against. Stiles lifts him up and carries him back to living room, removing him from the ball and setting it on the bottom shelf. Alan’s nose twitches as Stiles holds him up to his face, tiny whiskers fluttering over his cheeks. The hamster noses him once, tiny paws digging into his palm when Stiles kisses him and places him back in his cage. Stiles watches him head straight for his mound of bedding with a sigh.

Towards the end of the movie, as Michelle Pfeiffer’s character launches herself at her assailant, Stiles’ phone buzzes with a reply from someone else other than Allison. He’s been holding out that Derek will text him back but it’s Isaac instead. Stiles opens the partially displayed text as his hands shake because he knows Isaac’s on shift with Derek right now.

‘ _Derek just got your text. He smiled for half a second until he read the second one. Back to frowning now._ ’ The beta doesn’t have to be present for Stiles to hear the annoyed tone in his message. Stiles replies ‘ _We got into a fight._ ’ despite being aware the entire pack knows; gossip travels fast in a group tight knit as theirs. If he and Jackson were still on speaking terms, the beta would probably chastise him for it. As it is, Isaac informs him he’s an idiot.

Friday morning, Stiles cancels on lunch with his father, citing work obligations though none exist. A quarter past one, someone knocks on his closed door and Stiles catches the shiny glint of a badge in the window. Before he can protest, the Sheriff walks in, shuts the door behind him, and drops into the chair across the desk. Stiles watches him angrily slam a bag of food, grease spots adorning the corners, onto the wood.

“Dad.”

“Don’t start, Stiles, I’ve had a stressful week, no thanks to you.” Stiles frowns as his father pulls two containers of salad from the bag, as well as one container of curly fries. “The hell did you do to Hale?”

As soon as Stiles reaches for the fries, his dad slaps his hand. John’s glare hasn’t let up and he moves the fries out of reach. Stiles’ needy whine makes him rolls his eyes in exasperation.

“I asked you a question, son. You give me a reasonable answer, you get your fries.”

“Lydia didn’t tell you when you had lunch with her yesterday?” Stiles deflects, popping the top off his salad. “I know you met with her.”

“Lydia said to ask you about your and Hale’s problems in person, _Władysław_.”

If the Sheriff is willing to drop his real name, the calamity his mother bestowed on him with the best of intentions, Stiles is royally fucked. His father continues his withering glower, unblinking. Stiles stares down at his desk and drops his head, missing the container of salad by an inch.

“I demanded something unfair of him,” he mumbles, bottom lip catching a loose sheet of paper he was doodling on.

“Speak up, son.”

“I gave him an ultimatum.” It hurts to admit but it’s the truth. John's face softens and Stiles sighs. “You know I brought up becoming mates, right? Well I may have told him we either needed to do it before my next heat or break up and now Derek’s pissed and I feel like crap and I don’t know how to fix it. We aren’t talking either so the whole situation is just beyond shitty.”

“Jesus kid, did you learn nothing from Lydia and Whittemore?”

“Their issues didn’t stem from an ultimatum, dad.” They stemmed from the fact Lydia and Jackson wanted different things in life and neither was willing to compromise or sacrifice their goals. “I told you what you wanted to hear. Please hand over the curly fries.”

John does, setting them in front of Stiles’ face. He pulls another container from the grease stained bag and shoves a fry in his mouth as he crumples the paper down. Stiles manages a glare that is outshone by his father’s own.

“Why did you demand you become mates now? I mean, you’ve never seemed too eager about it before.”

Stiles groans and bites at the fry dangling from the cardboard container, face still pressed against his desk. The corner of the keyboard is starting to irritate him where it’s pressed against his temple but Stiles has no desire to move. His father taps at the salad container with his fork.

“I thought you two talked about this, like, weeks ago. You said he did when I came for dinner on Isaac’s birthday.”

“I said Derek mentioned it. The most he would say was that he wasn’t sure whether he could, what with his past. I told him not to worry because you’re so gone on him it wouldn’t matter. Should have known you’d push though. I swear, you get your persistence from your mother. Claudia could never let things go until they were completely resolved and all was dandy.”

John smiles softly at the memory of his wife and Stiles frowns. He had been under the impression his dad and Derek had a full blown talk about becoming mates.

“Have you at least apologized?”

Stiles finally sits up, resting his chin on one hand and pushing around the salad with the fork in his other. When he doesn’t answer, his father takes the container of curly fries away from him. Stiles picks at a cherry tomato with a piece of feta sticking to it, popping it into his mouth.

“You need to apologize, son. Stop with the passive aggressive bullshit-” Stiles huffs and John continues, “and go apologize to your boyfriend. I do not need my deputies sulking. I get enough of that from Greenberg.”

“I don’t know why you keep him around, he’s not exactly the sharpest.”

“Favor to your old high school lacrosse coach.” The Sheriff sighs and leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “Stiles, I know your relationship with Derek hasn’t always been the easiest. I know and I get it, he’s a bit damaged. But that boy loves you just as much I loved your mother.”

“That’s not-”

“He gets this look in his eye when I bring you up at work.”

“Dad.”

“You don’t need to be mates to be happy, son. Just remember that, okay?”

\- - -

The morning of Halloween, Stiles wakes up with a sour taste in his mouth. Logically he knows it’s morning breath but mentally he attributes it to the thwarted plans he’d had before his and Derek’s argument. His phone buzzes and wails against the nightstand, prompting him to start what is sure to be a shitty day.

The streets are littered with decorations, pumpkins adorning several of the shops near to the building Stiles and Danny work in. Stiles parks Roscoe in the garage and heads inside, frowning at the decorations stuck to the wall of the elevator. One of them is a gnarly looking wolf, cartoonish in its features. As accepting as society has come to be when it involves werewolves and other supernatural beings, Halloween always seems to translate into free reign depictions.

Danny comes to Stiles’ office for lunch, out of courtesy more than anything. He’s taken the afternoon off to help his boyfriend Damon prepare for the party they’re throwing tonight. Danny kindly reminds him he’s still welcome to attend, even if Derek won’t. Stiles hugs him before he leaves, telling him he won’t be able to make it but to have lots of fun and keep an eye on the wolfsbane spiked vodka Erica’s bought for the occasion.

Fifteen minutes after Danny departs, Stiles receives a text message from the emissary. Attached is a photo of a hastily drawn rune on Roscoe’s driver’s front wheel well and the message ‘ _try not to drive over any puddles and that should keep your jeep safe tonight._ ’ Last year, some punks slashed the tires after the Sheriff caught and charged them with underage drinking. Derek may have roared at them a bit when they snarked that the CJ5 should have been a harder to find.

In the end the kids got off without formal charges by agreeing to buy Stiles new tires. While Stiles was grateful - the jeep was running on balds anyways - he made Derek agree to taking _this_ Halloween off so they could actually enjoy it with the pack for once. As much as Stiles has always been proud of and supported both Derek’s and his dad’s dedication to the police force, some holidays he just wants to be selfish.

Today was supposed to be one of those days. The original plans had been to attend the party at the school Erica works at to help her and Boyd usher kids around the displays each grade had spent the day setting up. After that, as a group, they were going to go to Damon’s, get drunk on hard liquor, and wake up in the morning hungover but entirely happy.

Instead, Stiles will be spending tonight alone. He still hasn’t spoken to Derek other than a voicemail he left after the conversation with his father last week and two text messages asking if the alpha knew where the warranty for Stiles’ Blu-ray player was. Derek answered in one syllable answers and never returned the call.

Stiles thinks about going to the party alone for all of five seconds but remembers that most of the people there will be coupled up. Scott and Allison are out of the picture because it’s Sophia’s first Halloween and they’re taking her trick-o-treating regardless of the fact she won’t remember it. Lydia’s pregnant so drinking his sorrows away with her is out and Stiles is pretty sure Melissa conned Isaac into helping her hand out candy this year.

So the last thing he expects when he walks into his apartment are both Lydia and Isaac sitting at the kitchen table, chatting quietly. They stand when they realize Stiles is present, smirking at one another like they’ve just shared secrets. Stiles squints at them with one eye, tossing his wallet and keys into the bowl by the front door.

Lydia is dressed down from her normal attire, in a maroon v-neck t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants Stiles is suspiciously convinced once belonged to Jackson. Next to her, Isaac is wearing an old BHSD tee that’s threadbare in the shoulders and stained with bleach, as well as sweatpants cut off at the knees. Stiles bites the inside of his cheek when he catches a phantom whiff of Derek’s scent coming from Isaac.

“What are you two doing here?”

The banshee simpers and cocks her hips to the right. “I am pregnant,” she declares, waving a hand over her stomach. The bump that’s there is just barely visible, hidden mostly beneath the rolled band of her sweatpants and the fact she hasn’t started gaining a lot of weight yet. Stiles barely has to strain his hearing to hear baby Martin’s heartbeat - quick and fluttering - and when he looks up from her abdomen, Lydia places her hand over her stomach.

“You can’t drink,” Stiles says; he can smell whiskey from the foyer. “I know you don’t have pregnancy brain this early in gestation.”

“I never said I was drinking, that would be highly irresponsible. Besides, the whiskey’s spiked and I never have liked the taste of aconite.”

Stiles shakes his head at Lydia and turns towards Isaac, crossing his arms. “Is that why you’re here? To drink my booze?”

Isaac shrugs nonchalantly, gesturing Lydia with a wide sweep of his hand. “Lydia is pregnant.”

Lydia nods, satisfied with the beta’s answer. “You’ve been isolating yourself for two weeks, Stiles.”

“You look miserable,” Isaac adds.

“I do not.”

“You do too and you smell worse.” Lydia swats Isaac in the ribs and levels her eyes at him. Even though he stands an entire foot taller, the beta deflates under her gaze. “What? He does. You try being attuned to emotions through scent.”

Stiles watches them stare each other down, quirking an eyebrow. He steps out of his shoes and tugs his sweater off, hanging it on the coat rack. He idly notes he has one of Derek’s jackets hanging there, though it’s long since lost his scent.

“I am gonna go change and when I’m done, you’re going to give me a real reason as to why you’re here.”

Lydia rolls her eyes and Isaac smirks. Stiles heads into his room to change into flannel pants and a long-sleeved shirt with holes over his sternum. They’re courtesy of one Erica Reyes, who, several months back, got a little too aggressive during a sparring match. The blood washed out from where her nails had dug into his chest but Stiles never got around to throwing the shirt out.

The banshee and the beta are sitting on the couch when Stiles walks back in, slumping down on the recliner to the left. Lydia’s feet are in Isaac’s lap, his veins black as he draws discomfort from her ankles. She hasn’t mentioned being in a lot of pain but it’s understandable; a decade of competitively ice-skating has worn the joints down. In the winter, they swell and ache with the cold, something Stiles learned when they were seniors in high school and Lydia decided that he was going to be her study partner. That somehow translated into him becoming her personal pain drainer. It’s not something he does with most people - hell, the only people he’s drawn pain from other than Lydia are his father, mother, Scott, and Derek - because there is a certain level of trust associated with the process.

Stiles wasn’t even aware Lydia and Isaac were that close.

Lydia makes an appreciative noise as Isaac’s veins return to normal, withdrawing her feet and tucking them beneath her thighs. Isaac grins at her, almost shyly, and thumbs at the underside of his left wrist. Stiles freezes because he’s seen that look before: last time it was directed at Allison. Isaac and Scott didn’t talk for a week after because lusting after your friend’s recently ex-girlfriend violated bro code.

This can only end badly.

“Why are you two really here?” Stiles asks, trying to keep his opinion on whatever the fuck Isaac thinks he’s doing to himself.

“Scott didn’t want you to spend tonight alone,” Lydia replies. “We know about the plans you had with Derek.”

“Why aren’t you with him?” Stiles directs at Isaac. “He’s not supposed to be on shift until tomorrow.”

“Maybe I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Stiles rolls his eyes and Isaac groans. “Honestly? I needed a break from him. He’s been piny and depressed since you two got into it and nothing I’ve tried has made him feel better. The Sheriff let him spend the whole day with the canine unit and even that couldn’t cheer him up.”

“I knew I smelled puppy breath.”

“Your dad was all ‘ _he’s an alpha, he’ll set a good example_ ’ but Derek just sat there and let the pups run all over him. One of them started chewing on his finger and do you know what he did? He pet her until she fell asleep.” Isaac heaves a sigh and scratches his wrist again. “Your boyfriend got whipped by a two month old pup.”

“Then you should be with him right now, not with me. You’re _his_ beta, Isaac. Not Scott’s and definitely not mine.”

Lydia snorts, adding “I think what you mean to say is ‘thank you Isaac, for being such a good friend to our alpha. I am an asshole for putting him in this position.’”

“Harsh much?”

“Circumstances call for it, Stiles. Look, you know I’m on your side. I love you and I want you to be happy, but you went about this without thinking it through, you hurt Derek, and you hurt yourself. Have you tried talking to him about it?”

“He won’t return my calls.” Isaac grimaces at him like he knows it’s a lie. “Call. Whatever. I told him to think about it by himself and when he’s ready, we can talk. I’ve put enough pressure on him already and we all know how well pushing worked out last time. ‘Til then, I’m dealing.”

“You’re moping.”

“I am allowed to mope. Derek’s my -”

“If you finish that sentence the way I think you’re going to, we are going to have a problem.” Lydia picks at one of her nails, raising her eyes to meet Stiles’ when she’s chipped off a section of polish. “Maybe you should rescind your mates conversation.”

“That won’t help,” Isaac interjects. “I know Derek and he’ll just doubt himself for months until he lets it consume him.”

“He’s right.” Stiles feels the pinpricks of tears in the back of his eyes and stutters a breath in an effort to keep them at bay. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Be patient. You two are so disgustingly in love this won’t break you.”

“What if it does, Isaac?”

“It won’t.” Lydia smiles softly at him.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Stiles states, wiping his cheek with his sleeve. “Since you two insist on keeping me company, did you at least plan dinner?”

“I called the Chinese place down the street. Food should be ready,” Lydia pauses, checking her watch, “in five minutes or so. I’d offer to go pick it up, but, well. You know.”

“If you plan on using pregnancy as an excuse to get out of things for the next five months, you have another thing coming to you, Lyds.” Stiles looks down at his lap, scrunching the fabric of his pants in his palms. “I’ll go get it if you don’t criticize me for leaving the house in sweats.”

Lydia just smirks at him and pulls her knees to her chest.

“Isaac, come with me. There could be hooligans out there.”

“I’m not on duty.”

“Pfft, keep telling yourself that. You’re always in duty in this town.”

Isaac tilts his head back like he’s trying to keep from snapping. Stiles stands, grabs a jacket and his wallet, and slips into his shoes. Lydia turns the television on and goes straight to the Discovery channel. There’s an encore of a deep sea research special playing; amidst the rest of the channels playing zombie themed films or thrillers, Lydia _would_ pick the most sciencey thing available.

Stiles is down the stairs and in front of his building when Isaac joins him. He’s wearing a scarf that look absolutely ridiculous and Stiles snickers at him for it. The beta nudges him in the ribs and takes off in the direction of the Chinese restaurant. Isaac’s long strides give him an advantage and when Stiles catches him, he’s a little out of breath.

“You should start running again,” Isaac mumbles, poking a crosswalk button on a nearby streetlight post.

“You have freakishly long legs, Lahey.” The crosswalk light changes from ‘ _do not cross_ ’ to ‘cross’ and Stiles starts weaving his way around a group of rowdy teenagers. “I didn’t ask you to come with me so you could tell me I need to start running.”

“I’m aware. I’m not going to talk to you anymore about Derek. He’s my partner, my alpha, and the closest thing I’ve had to a brother since Camden died.” Isaac makes a pained expression before shaking his head. “I really do think you guys will be okay, but trust me when I tell you he needs time and space to get out of his own head.”

Stiles turns abruptly, throwing Isaac. He catches up in a few steps, glaring at Stiles.

“I don’t want to talk about Derek. What I want to talk about is what the fuck you think you’re hoping to accomplish with Lydia.”

Isaac freezes momentarily and Stiles sighs. Across the street, there are people in costumes pouring into a bar. The bass from whatever song is playing hurts his ears and the thin glass windows of the Chinese restaurant do little to block the noise as they step inside. The owner offers Stiles a wide smile, placing his food on the counter without needing to ask the name on the order. It’s a little sad that the man knows him by appearance but Stiles returns the grin, pays for their food, and leaves a nice tip.

They’re crossing back to the other side of the street when Isaac finally speaks.

“I’m not hoping to accomplish anything with Lydia. She’s not a conquest.”

There are no blips of his pulse, no indicators of a lie, and Stiles glances at Isaac in the edge of his periphery.

“Somehow I don’t believe you.”

“So don’t believe me. Look, other than Lydia and I, everyone has paired up in our pack.”

“Your point?”

“We all have our own lives to deal with. Scott and Allison have Sophie, Erica and Boyd are planning their wedding. Last time I spoke to Danny he was thinking about asking Damon to move in with him. Then there’s you and Derek.” Stiles starts walking across the street and Isaac grabs his elbow. “You could at least pretend you follow laws.”

“Jaywalking is harmless, Lahey. But if you’re really down for scolding, you should probably start with those peeps over there,” Stiles jibes, pointing at a group of parents and children. “Still failing to see your argument.”

Isaac glances both directions before rushing them across the road. “My point is that as much as the pack is excited to bring a new pup into the fold, I am the only one who doesn’t have commitments to other things.”

“We’re not going to ignore her, Isaac. That’s impossible.”

“I’m not saying you will, but think about it. I know you’re worried about her and the baby, with good reason.”

“Lydia doesn’t need someone to help her raise her kid.”

“I know that. _She_ knows that.”

“So what’s with the looks and draining her discomfort?”

Isaac’s eyes are glued to the sidewalk, eyes tracking lines in the pavement. “I want to help her. I don’t expect anything in return.”

“And Lydia’s okay with that?”

“Yes.”

Stiles bites his tongue as they approach his apartment building. Isaac grabs his shoulder this time, preventing him from going inside. His wolf is pacing, rumbling threats in his head.

“If you’re going to play the overprotective best friend card, do it now.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea. I know how you felt-"

“Like you didn’t?”

“This is different.”

“Please. If you weren’t on edge about Derek, this wouldn’t even be a problem.” Isaac crosses his arms with an air of irritation. “You were elated when Jackson left. You hated him.”

“No,” Stiles sighs, shaking his head, “see, that’s what you don’t get. I was neutral about Jackson up until things started to fall apart with Lydia. Then he reverted to being a major tool and treating her badly. I’m worried about this, you helping her, because I don’t think things are going to play out the way you want them to. I know her and the last thing she wants at the moment is a relationship.”

Isaac rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t want one either.”

No blip.

“Isaac.”

“This isn’t important right now. What is important is you and Derek figuring your shit out. The full moon’s next week and we have had way too many awkward pack meetings this past year to add another.”

Stiles sighs and kicks at a leaf skittering across the ground. “My heat’s next week so if this doesn’t work out, I, the origin of all awkwardness, won’t be there to make anything worse.”

That idea is starting to settle in a little more now. Isaac must see it on his face because he reaches a hand up and squeezes the side of Stiles’ neck. The action is something the betas do all the time with one another. It’s actually something they picked up from Derek, who also shares the habit, only when he uses it on Stiles, it’s typically followed with an ‘ _I’m sorry, I love you_ ’ and a kiss.

They head inside and up the stairs, climbing three flights until they reach the correct floor. Lydia is on her back when they enter, flipping through the book Stiles has had sitting on the coffee table for three weeks. Alan is sitting on the shelf inside his cage, noisily chewing on a mineral block. Isaac steps into the kitchen to start pulling plates and silverware from their places and Stiles walks towards Lydia.

She smiles up at him from the armrest, a warm grin on her lips. Ten years ago he would have killed for her to look at him like that. It still gives him a fuzzy feeling, but it’s one of mutual friendship and love, not obsession. Stiles bends down and kisses her forehead before plucking the book from her hands.

Before he goes to sleep that night, squished in bed with Lydia and Isaac - the beta is too tall to comfortably sleep on the couch -, Stiles pulls open his text message threads on his phone. There are several unanswered messages from various members of the pack, mostly pictures. Stiles pauses to check the one Allison has sent him of his goddaughter - Sophie was a bumblebee - before opening the thread with Derek.

‘ _I love you. I am so, so sorry and I love you. I just wanted to let you know._ ’ He sends the message, turns his alarms off, and rolls onto his side.

In the morning, the little blue notification light is blinking in the corner of his phone. Stiles wakes the screen and has to bite his lip from waking his friends up. The text is from Derek, timestamped at 4:17, a reply saying only ‘ _We need to talk._ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My phone does the thing all the time and although I usually catch it, I have sent several messages to random people.
> 
> I made the good (read: bad) decision of working on future chapters of this story before I finished this chapter which is part of the reason it took me so long to update. That and my life's been a stressful hell. But my birthday's on Monday and _How to Train Your Dragon 2_ comes out next Friday, so that's cool.
> 
> Anyways, I chose Stiles' name from [this](http://lonewolfed.tumblr.com/post/56802121732/stiles-name-is-polish-and-this-is-not-an-actual-meta) list that the lovely lonewolfed made on tumblr.
> 
> Three more chapters to go!


	8. opens up my heart tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this took a lot longer to write and post for the following reason: I had no idea how to resolve to huge issue I created for myself when it came to the mates conversation. I rewrote a majority of this chapter and have reconstructed my entire timeline from here on out because the way I had originally planned it didn't make sense anymore. Starting this story not really knowing what I wanted weighed heavily on my writing, as did a lot of the comments I got on the last chapter. Several of you were really pissed at Derek and that was never my intention. For that I am so sorry; I feel like I've failed you as an author. I took the issues you all voiced very seriously and attempted to address them in this chapter, and I apologize to those whom commented and I never replied to. I'm usually pretty good at that but I didn't know what to say. In hindsight, that was a really, really immature thing to do. I should have handled it differently and I am very sorry for that.
> 
> Basically, I fail and I am sorry. And I hope you like this chapter but I really have no idea if you will. ~~I've been staring at it for days and still don't know if I'm completely happy with it.~~

As much as Stiles wants to tear himself out of bed and rush into the living room to call Derek, he doesn’t. Instead he very slowly and very carefully extracts himself from the sheets, thankful the floor is carpeted. Lydia stirs somewhat but remains asleep, kicking her feet out into the space Stiles had been occupying. Isaac is pressed against the length of the wall and facing it. The position looks uncomfortable but the beta is relaxed and still dead to the world.

Stiles creeps down the hallway and into the living room, sparing a glance at his hamster. Alan’s nowhere to be seen and Stiles sighs out of relief. The last thing he needs is to spook the little guy and subsequently wake his friends up. He slides the glass door to his patio open, stepping barefoot out onto the cool concrete. The air is dense with condensation and Stiles debates grabbing the blanket on the couch before shutting the door.

He realizes his hands are shaking as he unlocks the screen. The phone is still opened to Derek’s text thread and he taps on the small icon next to Derek’s name, a photo he snapped of the alpha on his last birthday. Stiles inhales and exhales deeply, trying to calm his pulse before hitting the green phone icon. The screen changes as the phone registers the call and starts ringing.

Stiles only has to wait four dial tones until Derek answers with a rough “hey.”

“Hi.” Stiles’ chest is tight and his eyes are squeezed shut, trying to force the words out. “I, uh, I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No, I just got back from a run with Aoris and Araethyraea.” There’s barking and shuffling in the background; Isaac’s dogs love spending time with Derek. 

“I got your text,” Stiles blurts, throat threatening to close on him. “About wanting to talk.”

“I-”

“Do you want to meet up later?”

“Yeah,” Derek sighs, stressing coming through in his tone. “I’ve got to be at the station in an hour but I’m off at five.”

Stiles knows. Isaac told him last night that he and Derek would be on patrol all day, responding to all the post-Halloween vandalism calls the Sheriff’s Department gets every November first.

“Could you,” he starts, hand white knuckled around the patio railing, “could you come by my place? When you’re done? I need to put some hours in for work but I should be here when you get off.”

Derek’s quiet for a moment, voice hitching when he asks “are you sure that will be alright? Me coming to you?”

“Yeah.” That way Stiles will have the control, because the apartment is _his_ , _his_ space, _his_ home. “Please?”

“Of course,” Derek replies quickly. 

If Stiles’ heart skips a beat, well, he’s the only one that will know.

Except for the fact he can hear someone’s cellphone going off inside his apartment. The sound is greatly muffled by the glass but he can hear Isaac groaning and Lydia snarking at him. Stiles flexes his fingers from their rigid state and returns his attention back to the silence of the conversation.

“I’ll text you when I’m on my way, aright?”

“Okay.”

“And Stiles?” Derek asks, tone hesitant.

“Hmm?”

“I love you too.”

Derek ends the call then. Stiles’ cellphone makes a noise as the screen returns to the homepage and he stares at it, watching the backlight fade into black. His legs wobble as he slumps to his feet against the sliding glass door, cell clutched in his hand.

He cannot have a panic attack, he _cannot_. Not with Lydia and Isaac a few dozen feet away.

Stiles focuses on breathing in the cold air and holding it until his lungs burn, breath coming out white when he exhales. Once he’s convinced that he won’t start hyperventilating he stands, slides the door open, and walks back inside. Isaac’s in the kitchen, already in his uniform, poking at the coffeemaker. Lydia’s at the table, nibbling on a piece of toast.

“You okay?” she asks softly, like she already knows the answer. For not being a werewolf, she’s damn good at reading Stiles. She’s almost as good as Scott and Derek which is saying something.

“I spoke with Derek.” Stiles rubs at his neck and raises himself onto the counter, eyes flicking to the coffeemaker.

“And?” Isaac places a mug in his periphery.

“We’re going to talk when your shift is over. I, he’s coming here.”

“Okay,” his friends both say, no follow up comments.

Stiles may have snapped at them last night for being so damn nosy. Isaac was quick to point out that it was his responsibility as pack to care for his pack mates while Lydia stated that Stiles was the one who came to her asking for advice. Which was only kind of true, he guesses, but he didn't correct her. 

Now they are both reticent at his request.

Isaac leaves a few minutes later, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder tightly before exchanging a glance with Lydia. She nods in return but keeps quiet, maneuvering around the kitchen to wash her plate and glass. Stiles accepts the bowl of cereal she eventually pushes at him with a wisp of a smile.

“Do you want me to stay?” she asks as Stiles pushes the cheerios around in the milkless bowl.

“I’ll be okay. I need to get some hours in for work since I’m taking most of next week off and you need to go home and figure out which prenatal yoga class you want to take. I’ll call you if I start to panic, alright?”

“You can call me even if you don’t.” Lydia gets up from her seat at the kitchen table, sighing. She disappears down the hall and returns in clean clothes and her overnight bag on her shoulder. She drops it by the front door then walks back into the kitchen, leaning down to be eye level with Stiles. “Let me know what happens either way. I can be here in fifteen minutes.”

Stiles just nods, smiling weakly. “Thank you.”

Lydia kisses him, pressing her lips gently against his forehead. “Things will be okay, Stiles. I believe it. And if they aren’t, they aren’t. We’ll figure it out.”

Stiles pulls her into a hug, pressing his face against her stomach. Even through her shirt he can hear the flutter of baby Martin’s rapid heartbeat. Allison let him do this once and only once when she was pregnant with Sophia because the skin on her stomach became so sensitive she’d start giggling herself to tears. Scott found it adorable and depressing at the same time, mostly because he wasn’t allowed belly cuddles unless he wanted Allison to pee herself in laughter.

Lydia runs her fingers through Stiles’ hair a couple of times, hugging him back as tightly as she can comfortably. When she pulls away she smoothes her shirt back down and squeezes Stiles’ right hand before he drops his arms. She reaches for her bag as she approaches the front door, slips on her flats, and exits the apartment without another word.

\- - -

Nausea plagues Stiles for most of the afternoon. He accomplishes some much needed research on two of the big local businesses that have expressed interest to the company about new market campaigns. He also spends an hour on the phone with Charlie, his coworker, concerning their joint client, the frozen yogurt guy. She explains the client’s concerns about the target audience and Stiles listens patiently, even if he does think the owner’s target audience is a little unrealistic. Trying to gain customers solely from the ages of twenty one to thirty might work in a city much larger than Beacon Hills, one with a university or big college maybe, but the most they have here is a community college. And the high school, which is within a three mile radius of the frozen yogurt shop and the reason Stiles wants to target that specific group of people. Teenagers will eat anything that’s cheap and can be covered in chocolate or bits of candy.

Around four, Stiles’ anxiety starts to get the best of him to the point his hands start shaking. Instead of calling Lydia like he offered, he switches his television to the Pandora application. With his Vampire Weekend station cranking over the speakers, he sets about cleaning the entire apartment. It’s been a general state of disarray since the fight, mostly because Stiles has been mopey and sad and had no desire to keep it clean.

The main room is spotless within forty minutes. Stiles starts a load of laundry before beginning on the kitchen. Still twitchy and anxious, rinsing the dishes left over from breakfast keeps his hands busy for the most part. When the dish washer is full he starts that too, cringing at loud pops and clanks as the cycle progresses. Next he starts on the microwave, fingers burning with the sting of bleach and eyes shifted from the scent.

Stiles’ phone whistles at him at 5:03. He unlocks the screen and fights down the fresh wave of nerves. ‘ _I’m finishing a report but I should be done in half an hour. I can be there by six if you still want me to come by._ ’ Stiles replies with ‘ _that’s fine_ ’ then returns to his cleaning. His fingertips are numb by the time the counters, stove, and sink are spotless.

He doesn’t hear the knocking at the door, nor the quiet call of his name, over the sound of the vacuum. The only reason he stops is because the container is full and no longer sucking up crumbs. The knocks come again and Stiles’ heart rate kicks up several notches. He can hear his own pulse in his ears, can hear the other on the opposite side of the door.

Stiles slots the vacuum back together without emptying it, taking a few shaky breaths as he approaches the door. “Stiles?” comes from the other side after a few moments and Stiles hovers his hand over the lock. It says something that Derek isn’t using his key and letting himself in.

Stiles turns the deadbolt and undoes the latch at the top of the frame, gripping the knob before turning it. Everything stops the moment he swings the door open because Derek looks like he’s about to be gutted.

The man’s face is sunken, like he hasn’t been taking care of himself. His beard is thicker, fuller, like Derek always lets it get in the dead of winter. There are bags under his eyes too, which makes sense in conjunction with the four a.m. text message.

“Hi,” he says quietly, eyes cast down at the sill between the hallway and the apartment.

“Hey.” Stiles’ breath catches in his throat and he steps back, opening the door further. “Come in.”

Derek finally raises his eyes away from the floor, corner of his lips barely quirking up as he steps inside. He hangs his leather jacket, the one with the too long sleeves that used to belong to his father, on a free peg of the coat rack then slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Stiles can see the tremor of his hands and he uncurls his own from fists.

Every part of him wants to yell, to be furious at Derek for making him feel this way. Derek must notice the air flooding with the acrid scent of fear and discomfort because he furrows his eyebrows just enough to show concern. Instead of screaming or lashing out, Stiles whines almost inaudibly.

“Can I,” he starts, holding a hand out towards Derek, “please?”

Derek doesn’t question what Stiles is asking for, just nods and ducks his head. Stiles closes the distance between them, raising his arms to hug Derek around the shoulders. He buries his nose in Derek’s neck, inhaling deeply and filling his lungs with the scent he’s been craving since the fallout.

If this is the last time he’s going to have the opportunity to have this, Stiles wants to make it last. 

Derek’s breath is unsteady against the back of his neck when he returns the hug, arms wrapped tightly around Stiles’ waist. Someone is shaking but Stiles can’t tell who the source is. Maybe it’s both of them, he doesn’t know; he doesn’t really care. The conclusion is the same: they’re both hurting, they’re both _suffering_ , and Stiles’ wolf is wailing desperately in his head.

Stiles feels Derek push him away just enough to put a few inches between them, hands skimming up and down his sides until they settle around his hips. Carefully, Stiles places his hands on either side of Derek’s neck, eyes flicking back and forth between Derek’s. He leans forward, eyelids fluttering shut as he presses their lips together in a chaste kiss. With a light amount of pressure, Derek kisses back.

When he draws away, Stiles keeps his eyes closed. Derek presses their foreheads together and remains silent.

“You’re not going to ask me to be your mate, are you?” Stiles finally asks, tears pricking at the back of his eyes. There’s no point in being subtle, not anymore.

He thinks he should be ready when Derek says “no” against his chin, beard scraping against his skin. He mentally prepared for this, for Derek declining his request. Instead of handling it the way he planned, Stiles panics and the words start tumbling out.

“Okay. I, okay, we should, _I’m sorry_. We, Derek, we need to, we should talk, _Derek_.” Stiles curls his fingers into the collar of Derek’s sweater, eyes squeezed shut so tightly they’re beginning to hurt. “I, we need to, can we-”

“Stiles,” Derek’s speaking, gently, like he does when he’s trying to calm down a frightened victim at a crime scene.

Stiles doesn’t register it though, continues with his now half sobs of “Derek, talk, can we talk about this? Please-”

“Stiles,” Derek says a little more forcefully this time, holding Stiles’ face in his hands, “Stiles, breathe.”

“I love you,” he chokes out and Derek shushes him this time.

“I love you too. But no, I am not going to ask you to be my mate. You’re going to ask me.”

And that? That is not something Stiles was expecting. He blinks his eyelids open, vision blurry from the tears he’s been trying to fight back. Derek is watching him carefully, the barest hint of an almost smile on his lips and his eyebrows drawn together.

“Can we sit down? To talk. If that’s alright?” Stiles nods. “Kitchen table or couch?”

“Kitchen table,” he replies, voice just above a whisper.

Derek wipes at the fresh streams of tears on Stiles’ cheeks with his fingers, tucking his thumbs under his sleeves to soak up the remainders. Stiles lets Derek guide him to the table and sit him in the chair with the cushion. When he lets go Stiles wants to reach out, just to touch him.

“What did you say?” he finally asks.

“You’re going to ask me.”

“That’s,” he stutters, words caught in his throat, “that’s not how this is supposed to work.”

The conversation with Scott comes flooding back and Stiles swallows uncomfortably.

“Fuck how it’s supposed to work. You of all people should know by now that we don’t play by the rules.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Listen to my heart beat and tell me I’m lying. Fuck. The. Rules,” he says, emphasizing each word individually.

Stiles doesn’t hear a blip. He wipes at his face then bites the inside of his cheek.

“But you’re, Derek, you’re an alpha. There are-”

“I don’t care about societal rules or tradition. You being an omega does not change a thing and I need you to understand how much I mean that. I don’t care if people talk, I don’t care if any of the neighboring packs come challenge me for territory. You were the one who asked for this and I am trying to give it to you the only way I know how.”

“You don’t want a mate,” Stiles says, another new wave of nausea churning in his stomach. “Since, I was a kid, that’s been your stance.”

“And it was true. I didn’t think I ever would after the night Kate poisoned me and slaughtered most of my family.” Derek places a hand over her scar and grimaces. “But I thought about why, why I continued to believe that. Why I should continue to let her affect me. Why I should let her ruin the one relationship in the world that I can’t live without. God, Stiles, if you could only get inside my head, if you could only hear my wolf. Do you want to know what it sounded like the first time we slept together?”

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek harder, until he tastes blood. 

That night, his own wolf had roared.

“You don’t get to use that against me,” he replies and Derek frowns.

“That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

“Derek,” he tries but Derek shakes his head.

“Please let me get this out.”

Stiles bites his tongue then says “fine.”

“Do you remember the night you asked me to be your heat partner?”

“Yes but I don’t see how that’s important.”

“If I hadn’t wanted you, if my wolf hadn’t wanted you as badly as it did, do you think I would have said yes? It yipped and barked and howled during your first heat, Stiles. You were so far gone you never noticed but I did. It wanted you, Stiles, it’s always wanted you, before I ever knew I did too. Even, ever since you were an annoying little shit of a teenager that made my life insufferably complicated.”

“Really?” It comes out sarcastically as he can manage with his thoughts spinning the way they are.

“This is what I mean. You wouldn’t listen, you still won’t listen, even though you’re an omega, even though it’s hardwired into your goddamn genes to submit to an alpha’s command. But you don’t. You never do and you probably never will and that’s what I love about you. You don’t take shit from me or the betas or Scott. You follow your own set of rules.”

Stiles laughs bitterly, “and look where that’s gotten us. I demanded we become mates or we break up. We haven’t seen each other in two weeks and the part of me that wants to hear why you changed your mind about the whole mates thing is just barely winning out over the part of me that wants to punch you in the face.”

“I deserve that. No amount of I’m sorries is going to fix it, but I am sorry. I was a dick.”

“A huge dick.”

“I was a huge dick. You know I hate fighting with you. It distorts your scent and makes my skin itch. So when you threw me out I took that time to think about everything in a new light. Like why I shouldn’t want a mate and why I should deny myself that. And you know what I realized? What Kate did wasn’t a good enough reason anymore. What she did was horrible, yes, unforgivable, and I am going to have to live with that for the rest of my life. Losing you though? That would be the biggest mistake I could ever make.”

Stiles’ hands start shaking in his lap.

“You’re it for me. You’re always going to be it for me; I just didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want this because the last time I did everything went to shit. But you’re not Kate, Stiles, and I am so sorry I ever made you feel like I was associating you with her.”

“This doesn’t fix our problems. We still want different things.”

Derek sighs and folds his hands together on the table. “I love you and I want to do this for you.”

“No, I refuse to force you into this. You’ll just resent me in the long run and I am so not down with that.”

“Sometimes we make sacrifices for the ones we love.” Derek rubs at his neck. “If you ask me, I will say yes. We can be mates, have a ceremony, exchanges bites. Just not yet. We need time to sort things out, as mates and as a couple. We can’t do this again, make demands. We-”

“Need to start talking about what we want,” Stiles finishes.

That blame lies on both of them. With the way their relationship developed, they never had the “where do you see our relationship going?” conversation that most couples had within the first six months of a relationship.

Scott and Allison had theirs within weeks of getting back together each time. Stiles remembers Scott coming to him a month into the last time he and Allison had gotten back together. He’d been practically giddy, bouncing when he’d said that they were going to get married one day. Only instead of joking like they had through high school, Scott had really meant it that time.

It was the same with Boyd and Erica. They hadn’t gotten together until they were both juniors in undergrad, spent two years only seeing each other during breaks, but even then they knew what they wanted and where they were going.

It was the thing that finally broke Lydia and Jackson. What had started out as mutual plans faded away as their lives progressed and by the time they gave in, it had just become bitter resentment and a lot of harsh words.

“We should wait,” Stiles finally says. “Until you’re ready. And if, if you want, we can go to a therapist.”

Derek just shakes his head. “We don’t need a therapist, we just need to talk to each other. We’ll go slow. I just, I do want it. You, as my mate.”

Stiles sighs and rubs his cheeks again. The dishwasher croaks and pops its door open to let the stream out. Derek glances at it before returning his attention back to Stiles.

“Tell me what you want to do, Stiles. Please.”

Stiles fidgets his hands and pulls at the string waistband of his sweats. He takes a deep breath, plucking at the hem of his shirt as he says “I’d like to say start over but we can’t replace or forget the past nine years, can we.”

“No, we can’t.”

“I’ll wait. Until you’re okay with this. I know you said you’d say yes if I ask, but we should wait. Figure out stuff between us. Get through my heat if you still want to spend it with me.”

“Of course I do.”

“Then let’s do that. Spend the next two days apart, get through my heat, work on our relationship.”

Derek nods then goes right back to frowning. “About your apartment.”

“I should renew my lease.”

“If that’s what you think you should do, then yes. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you to move in but I don’t think it’s the best idea right now.”

Stiles nods. “Agreed.”

Derek hesitantly smiles for the first time all night. He looks as drained as Stiles feels. The dryer buzzes in indication its cycle is complete and Stiles stands.

“Wanna help me fold some laundry?” he asks, holding a hand out to Derek.

Derek nods, slots his fingers between Stiles’, and lets himself be pulled into the hallway.

\- - -

At first, it’s Stiles’ most awkward heat to date other than the time Derek missed it because he was in Brazil and that first one after being on suppressants for a couple of years. Stiles enjoys what parts of it he can, body so keyed up from the stress prior to heat that the flares of want are as strong the first day as they usually are on the third day. Derek helps him through it, knotting him every time and filling him up until his come starts to leak around his knot. Stiles appreciates the way Derek goes out of his way to make sure Stiles is as comfortable as possible. He always does anyways, even during his own heats, but somehow it means more this go around.

The lucid periods between the sex is the awkward part. Their relationship conversation is still looming over them and they dance around one another until the morning of the third day. Stiles is sprawled out beneath Derek in the alpha’s bed, mind clear for the first time since waking up. He wants to know if Derek would have ever considered the mates thing if Stiles had never brought it up. Derek rolls them so Stiles is on top and thinks about it for a while before admitting that he doesn’t know.

That’s how the rest of Stiles’ heat goes: sex with serious conversations between waves of want. By the time the fifth day rolls around, they’ve discussed all the big key issues: mates, marriage, kids. 

Derek has apparently had an engagement ring buried underneath a row of _Aconitum carmichaelii_ in the greenhouse for over a year. Stiles tells him that it doesn’t matter if they ever get married if they are mated because nothing will ever bring them closer than that bond. He immediately follows that statement with saying that he’d like to marry Derek regardless of if they are mates, joking that if they were both humans, this would all be so much easier.

The consensus on kids is that yes, they both want them but not for at least four years. Even if they are never mated, Stiles wants them, three to be exact. Derek tells him he would have been pleased with just one but if Stiles is willing to put his body through it, he’s good with three as well. Stiles asks if Derek had been serious all the times during Stiles’ previous heats when he said he’d get Stiles with a pup if he hadn’t gotten his contraceptive shot. Derek’s ears go red and when he whispers ' _yes_ ' into the back of Stiles’ neck, Stiles grins at the idea of it.

The pack is the hardest to convince that they’re going to be alright. Between the betas trying to back their alpha and the members of Scott’s original pack supporting Stiles, the bickering grows to a point that Derek has to shout at them to stop it. Stiles calmly thanks them for caring enough to go as far as choosing sides but reminds them that this is between he and Derek. Derek agrees and tells them that while their concern is appreciated, he doesn’t want to hear another castigation about the way they’re handling this because not a single one of them has gone through their relationships without rough patches either. The only one who is excluded in this is Isaac, who for the most part has been relationship free since he was a sophomore at UCLA.

Derek’s first Sunday morning back at family breakfast with the Stilinskis and McCalls, John takes Derek and Stiles aside while Scott lets Sophia ceremoniously drop blueberries into their pancakes. Inside the office he uses on occasion when he brings case files home, he flat out asks what their plans are. Derek’s been at work since the fallout, has talked to the Sheriff over a dozen times at the beginning and ending of each of his shifts, but only about work related topics. Derek begins to explain the decisions they’ve come to but Stiles interrupts him. He tells his father that he’s an adult now and the whole scaring his significant others into telling him information they wouldn’t normally offer up doesn’t work anymore, especially when that significant other was an alpha werewolf.

The Sheriff remains stone-faced for a moment then sighs, shakes his head, and runs a hand through his hair. ‘ _I certainly raised you with a strong sense of self preservation, huh?_ ’ He looks at Derek and uncrosses his arms, grinning. ‘ _Son, I wish you luck_ ’ he directs at Derek before patting his deputy on the shoulder and exiting the room. He closes the door behind him and Stiles’ jaw drops because apparently standing up to his father is a lot easier than he’d previously believed. It still sends him into minor panic and Derek holds his hands until his claws recede and his eyes shift back from amber.

Thanksgiving is as normal as it ever is, only this year they have two celebrations. The first includes only the Stilinskis, McCalls, and Derek. That night it’s a pack affair and the ravenous members of their chosen family descend upon Derek’s home as soon as the second and third turkeys of the day come out of the double ovens. Stiles shoos everyone out of the kitchen except Lydia; she plays the pregnancy card and Stiles doesn’t have enough energy left to throw her out.

By the time Christmas comes around, Stiles and Derek have worked out most of their issues. They fight more frequently than they had in the past, something the pack doesn’t think is necessarily healthy but it means they resolve their issues much faster. When Stiles drops Derek off at the Sacramento airport three days before his birthday and Christmas, they’re fresh off an argument that spanned the past fifty six miles of the drive. Stiles gets to the floor of the garage the Jeep is parked on before he turns around and stomps back into the airport. Derek is waiting for him by the security line. They end up making a scene and the TSA agent manning the entrance to the line shouts at them to either get a room at one of the dozen nearby hotels or stop making out because no one needs to see horny couples swapping spit this close to the holidays.

Laura calls Stiles the day after Derek arrives in New York, wanting to catch up since they haven’t spoken in several months. He isn’t aware that Cora is also on the line until he hears the telltale Hale certified snort that Laura has never been able to pull off quite like her younger siblings. Stiles playfully calls them bully alphas for ganging up on the maybe kind of possible one day future omega mate of their brother. When they cease laughter, Stiles realizes Derek hasn’t told them about their plans.

They react the way he expects them to: first rage, then empathy, lastly followed by quiet acceptance. Both of them had been aware of the heat partners agreement and how that developed into an actual relationship but they, very justifiably, threaten to eviscerate Stiles if he _ever_ pulls that shit on Derek again. Stiles agrees and they seem pleased when he says he’ll do it himself if anything he does ever winds them up in that situation.

When Derek walks into the Sacramento International Airport’s baggage claim a week and a half later, Stiles is waiting for him with a huge smile on his face. Derek scoops Stiles into his arms and the people around them cheer and woot when their light kissing turns zealous. They barely make it to the Jeep before Stiles climbs into the passenger’s side to straddle Derek’s lap. Derek’s heat is just on the horizon and Stiles curses him for cutting it so close.

Alpha heats only last three days unlike omega heats, but are just as strong. Derek’s pheromones send Stiles into a pseudo heat the night before Derek’s heat begins, just after they finish carrying in Derek’s luggage and bags of groceries they picked up on the drive home. Neither of them leave Derek’s house for the next four days; three for the heat and the fourth for recovery and sleeping.

January proceeds with Lydia reprieving Stiles from attending Lamaze classes with her, not that he has been going to many to being with. Isaac was and has been serious about helping her out, going so far as to ask Derek to move shifts around last minute when something comes up. As an alpha of the pack, it makes sense for Derek to shift his priorities for the arrival of a new pup but Stiles knows he does it because he secretly likes Lydia. That may or may not have to do with the fact that the banshee smells like honeysuckle and oranges, the scent her pregnancy gives off, and two scents Derek once associated with one of his little cousins.

By the time Lydia’s due date arrives, just three days after Stiles’ twenty fifth birthday, another of Stiles’ heats and a handful of pack birthdays have passed and neither he nor Derek have pushed the mating idea more than to mention or reassure the other that they still want it. Derek is spending the night at Stiles’, the two of them cuddled beneath a blanket on the couch where they passed out after finishing the series finale of _Breaking Bad_ , when they get the frantic ‘ _BABY MARTIN IS ON HIS OR HER WAY_ ’ from Scott. It’s followed by a similar message from Allison, not in capitals, then Isaac, in capitals. Lydia forwards them all the ETA to the hospital and demands pain drainage because ‘ _this kid is going to be a werewolf if the strength of my contractions is any indication._ ’

The only people Lydia lets into the room once she is fully dilated are Allison and Erica. She cusses up a storm that the half the wolves in the waiting room cringe or snicker at while Danny sits there nonplussed. He does keep his phone out though, texting someone every few minutes. Stiles assumes it’s Jackson.

Allison and Erica eventually walk out of the hallway reeking of blood although their clothes don’t show it and happily announce that it’s a boy. The pack shoots to their feet in uproarious celebration, the other nervous patrons of the waiting room shooting them glares. The hospital staff just roll their eyes; they’d known the Hale/McCall pack was on their way the moment Lydia’s water broke courtesy of one Melissa Delgado-Stilinski.

Lydia’s son is a little ball of pudgy, pale skin, bright blue eyes, and the distinct scent of a werewolf. He has Lydia’s mouth and nose, Jackson’s eyes and ears, and a tiny little tuft of platinum blonde hair on his head. Stiles doesn’t comment on the fact he also has Jackson’s serious eyebrows.

Lydia fusses at the pack to be careful not to drop him or overwhelm him with their scents or stress him enough into shifting. Boyd is holding him when Danny asks what his name is. Lydia glances at her hands and Isaac pats her forearm. ‘ _Elliot Flynn Martin_ ’ she says. 

Flynn is Jackson’s middle name.

Danny has his phone out a moment later and Lydia shoots him a cursory glance because she knows exactly who he is texting. It wouldn’t surprise Stiles if Jackson showed up in Beacon Hills within the week, pending the rift between he and Lydia can be spared for the time being. Isaac must seem to recognize something in Lydia shift because he reaches his hand down to hers, intertwines their fingers, and whispers something into her ear. Whatever he says seems to comfort her because she nods.

Jackson does arrive in Beacon Hills two days later, jet lagged and so different than the way Stiles remembers him that he can’t even be mad when he opens the door to Lydia’s townhouse and finds the beta standing on the doorstep. Allison, Isaac, and Derek are in the house as well, and Stiles hears them all go silent when Jackson whispers ‘ _please._ ’ Stiles steps aside and Jackson walks inside, up the stairs, and towards Lydia’s room. Stiles stands at the foot of the stairs, the other members of the pack gathered around him, waiting for inevitable shouting that never comes.

An hour later Lydia comes down with Jackson following her, their son cradled in his arms. Isaac looks uncomfortable and Allison’s expression is the very definition of pissed, but neither of them says anything. Jackson asks if he can speak with Derek and Allison, sparing a long look at Lydia when she curls a finger at Isaac to follow her into the kitchen. Stiles is about to protest about being left out, but Jackson says he wants to talk to him after he speaks with Derek and Allison. Stiles grimaces but nods, unlocking the screen of his phone. He types and saves a draft mass text that is ready to send to the rest of the pack at a moment’s notice then steps into the laundry room to mindlessly fold clean baby clothes.

Unbeknownst to Stiles or the rest of the pack for that matter, save Isaac, Lydia and Jackson have been regularly talking for the past three months of her pregnancy. Jackson tells him during their talk that he and Lydia could only hold anger and resentment toward one another for so long, not only because they have a child but also for the fact that they were, and always will be, very important to one another. Stiles gets it, how the first serious relationship people have is one they never forget. 

He thinks about how that’s true for Scott and Allison, how Scott knew, no matter how many times they broke up, that they would come back to one another and spend the rest of their lives together. He thinks about how that’s true for his father, how he will never forget Stiles’ mother even though Melissa is his wife now. He thinks about how that’s true for him and Derek in a roundabout way, because even through all the relationships he’s had, Derek has been his one constant.

Jackson leaves three weeks after Elliot is born with the promise to try and visit in a few months. He and Lydia discussed moving back, and as much as Stiles knows Jackson’s wolf is probably dying to care for his pup, Jackson will be staying in London. They may be on good terms but a change like that is too much for either of them right now. Lydia assures the pack that she’ll be okay as Jackson drives away, leaning into Isaac’s side with a somber smile.

A few days after Sophia’s first birthday, a week into July, Stiles realizes something very important about what he had asked of Derek all those months ago. The ultimatum of becoming mates or splitting up and what their resolution was is something Stiles has thought of frequently since Jackson’s brief visit. It struck a chord in him that he wasn’t aware of and Stiles stops breathing when he recognizes why.

Wanting to be mates, demanding that of Derek, was more about wanting to know that Derek would want it one day, knowing that he could change his mind, and not so much about the mating process occurring right then and there. It had been disastrous and drastic, Stiles knows that now, but in the time since that he’s had to reflect, he’s realized that’s what it came down to. Thinking back, he doesn’t know if he would have really been able to leave the pack if he and Derek had decided to break up. With time, probably yes, but he doesn’t want to think about that now.

They’re in a good place, he and Derek. They’re happy, the pack is happy, and the pups get along spectacularly. Stiles got a raise at the end of last month and Derek has somehow worked his issues out with Parrish and become friends with the other deputy. Erica and Boyd’s wedding is a month away and they’re all just, happy.

Someone, a cousin of Boyd's who is also part of a werewolf pack in Oregon, does inquire about the structure of Boyd's pack during the reception. Derek and Stiles are seated at the table the rest of the pack was sitting at a few minutes ago until Erica dragged Isaac onto the dance floor, Boyd asked Allison to dance, and Scott and Lydia started twirling Sophia and Elliot around in slow circles while Danny and his boyfriend grinned at them. When Boyd's cousin asks if they are also mated, like the newlyweds and the other alpha are, Stiles scrunches his nose. It's not exactly polite coming from a visiting werewolf but when Stiles turns to Derek, the alpha's ears are red and his cheeks are pink. Derek glances at Stiles before slowly grinning, saying that no, not yet, but they have plans be mated in the future.

Stiles steals Derek away from the reception after they've both danced with Erica, pushes him into a bathroom down the hall from the ballroom the wedding party has rented out, and blows him against a stall door. When he's done, Stiles kisses him so Derek can taste himself on Stiles' tongue. Derek smirks and calls him a deviant before his expression grows serious. He reiterates what he told Boyd's cousin with a bruising kiss.

They return to half the pack shooting them amused grins while the other half offer resigned sighs and rolls of eyes. Stiles just shrugs, slumps down into his seat, and smirks when Derek sits next to him. Derek whispers ' _love you_ ' into his hair before kissing his cheek. Stiles chuckles and waves a hand at Scott to get his attention, mind replaying how not half an hour ago, Derek had told someone outside of their family that they were going to be mates.

\- - -

Four months after the wedding, Stiles is lying in bed with Derek, the alpha draped over his chest with his nose pressed to Stiles’ neck. They’re still warm from the shower they took after a very slow, very long round of sex. Derek rode him for what felt like eternity and when he came, all he could think was ‘ _I want this forever._ ’ It was so sappy that Stiles started laughing into his hands, snickering and choking as Derek asked him if he was alright. Stiles nodded and kissed him, bubbling ridiculous noises into it.

“Hey, Derek?” Stiles asks, sweeping his fingers over the triskele that adorns Derek’s back.

“Hmm?” he replies, snuggling further into Stiles’ arms.

Stiles sucks in a breath and grins when Derek presses a soft kiss to his collarbone. “Will you be my mate?” he asks after a moment, tensing almost unnoticeably.

Derek just exhales against his skin, presses another kiss there, and says “yeah.” He rubs his nose against Stiles’ hairline and yawns, mumbling “yes” right after. Stiles shifts further down the pillows and whispers “thank you” against his lips. Derek cracks an eye open, smiles, and presses their foreheads together.

They kiss once more and fall asleep that way; they can figure out the rest in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left then an epilogue. It'll probably be another few weeks until I post chapter nine as I have a few shorter fics I really want to finish and post in the mean time.

**Author's Note:**

> Title’s from the beautiful song _Closer Than This_ by St. Lucia.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblahhhhh](http://stayingputwouldbeablunder.tumblr.com).


End file.
